Atra Regnum
by Shadow Rebirth
Summary: ABANDONED. Harry has a dark secret: He isn't a wizard. But that certainly doesn't mean he can't do magic. Unfortunately, it also means that in the face of fanatical governments and enraged demigods, Voldemort is going to be the least of his problems. [SoG rewrite.]
1. Chapter 1: Going Down in Flames

Title: Atra Regnum  
Author: Shadow Rebirth  
Beta Readers: solunvar, Teufel1987  
Rating: T/PG-13  
Warnings: Death, blood and gore, language, spoilers  
Chapter WC: 4,845  
Story WC: 4,845  
First Written: December 6, 2008  
Last Edited: September 3, 2009  
Posted: September 3, 2009  
Summary: Harry has a dark secret: He isn't a wizard. But that certainly doesn't mean he can't do magic. It was too bad it also meant that in the face of fanatical governments and enraged demigods, Voldemort was going to be the least of his problems. [AU, no pairings.]

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This work has not been endorsed by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Publishing, Warner Bros., or any of the others holding copyright or license to the Harry Potter books, movies, and products. This is a commercial work. The author receives no financial gain from its production or distribution.

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Atra Regnum

Chapter 1_  
Going Down in Flames_

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There were three things that everyone knew about Harry James Potter. First was that he was an average person, relatively speaking. Second was that his only real friends were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Third, and most important, was that he was a wizard.

All three of these were false.

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"Oi, Harry, you alright mate?"

Harry's head jerked up as he was caught by surprise. He glanced up and found that Ron was staring at him with concern, a rather rare emotion for the redhead. Embarrassed at being seen so deeply lost in thought, Harry coughed into his hand and turned his gaze to the Gryffindor common room fire, which was burning brightly only a few feet from their seats.

"Er, yeah, I'm fine," the dark haired teen replied. His gaze stayed glued to the fire. "Just...thinking..."

Guilt flashed across Ron's face, leaving Harry with no doubt that his friend thought that he was thinking about his recently deceased godfather. Harry breathed a silent sigh. While Sirius _was_ a part of the matter, he wasn't the issue itself. No, Harry's current issue was far larger than that. To Harry's infinite relief, Ron, in his belief that Harry was mourning, left him alone for the rest of the evening. Harry felt a brief flash of guilt at ignoring his friend the way he was, but the feeling was quickly repressed beneath the immense weight of solitude that he felt pressing down on him.

Harry had never been normal by any stretch of the definition. It came with being a wizard. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on the mental stability of who you asked—Harry's differences went further than most people guessed.

When Harry was three years old he'd first begun to use magic. Not accidental magic, but _real_ magic, capable of doing whatever he'd wished, within reason.

When Harry had first found out about the Wizarding World at the age of eleven, he'd been overjoyed, thinking he'd found a place to fit in. Then he'd discovered that wizards needed wands to perform magic—that their magic was different than his. Hell, Harry couldn't even _try_ to use a wand; while at Ollivander's he'd found that wands were like dead sticks in his hand. He couldn't channel magic through them at all.

After going through several dozen wands, Harry had finally gotten fed up enough to use his magic to make it _look_ like one of the wands had "chosen" him. It was pure irony that that particular wand just so happened to be Voldemort's brother wand. Fate seemed to hate him that way.

Since discovering that he was different, Harry had gone to great lengths to hide his differences from the rest of the Wizarding World. It wasn't that difficult, really, considering that he'd been doing the same for all of his life at the Dursleys.

Harry had figured out at a very young age that the Dursleys—and humans in general—naturally feared anything that was different from what they considered normal. It was a psychology thing, he'd read once. A primal fear and discomfort around anything that could threaten one's survival. Such fears could easily be overridden by the higher functioning, logical parts of the brain, but only if the person consciously wanted it. The Dursleys didn't.

Because of all of this, Harry had been careful to never show his abilities to his family or anyone else. He had instead experimented with them in private, figuring out what his limits were and exactly what he could do.

Another thing that Harry had had to hide from the Dursleys was his intellect. Harry had always been an incredibly bright boy, which wasn't surprising since his entire life was a fight for survival. When one grows up in such a situation, they tend to be very observant and able to use most anything to adapt in order to survive. Harry was no exception and he'd found that he generally caught onto things a lot quicker than others his age.

Harry had, however, pretended to be normal in order to avoid notice. Nevertheless, this didn't stop him from going down to the public library in his spare time and spending hours upon hours reading anything that he could get his hands on. He learnt a lot this way; in fact most of what he'd learnt in primary school was not from school itself but from that library.

Harry was also fortunate that he usually had a lot of time to go to the library. Contrary to what he had told his friends, his relatives hadn't given him very many chores when he was younger for fear that the neighbors would notice. Instead they would just kick him out of the house and leave him up to his own devices. This was actually how the rumors that he was a "hoodlum" had started; after all, what kind of a child spent barely any time at home? Harry couldn't help but chuckle at what the neighbors would think if they found out _where_ he'd spent all his time.

One would probably wonder why, if Harry was so bright, he only was an average student at Hogwarts? The answer to this question frustrated Harry quite a bit. He knew that he could do quite well if left to his own devices, but he had to follow the Hogwarts curriculum, and mimicking the spells that they were supposed to do was more difficult than most would think.

Harry did magic far differently than most wizards. For wizards, it was as simple as an incantation, a wand movement, and an intention. For Harry to cast a spell he had to actually _understand_ what he was doing and why it worked. He had to be conscious of how he controlled and manipulated the energy that was magic. It was because of this that even for a simple spell he would have to spend quite some time in the school library researching the spell and what it did so that he could mimic the result accurately. Waving around a stick in class while trying to do so certainly didn't help his concentration any.

Doing the amount of work for every spell that Harry did, left him with very little time to experiment on his own. Because of this, Harry was bound to the work that all Hogwarts students did and he rarely got the chance to work on anything else. Harry did, however, get several ideas that he never would have thought of before coming to Hogwarts—the Fidelius charm was a prime example of this.

The scuffle of feet on carpet broke Harry from his reverie. For the second time that night, his head jerked up, towards the source of the noise, only to see the end of a robe disappearing up one of the stairs to the dorm rooms. A quick glance around the room revealed that it was late and he was the only one left in the common room.

Harry frowned momentarily, wondering why no one had bothered to tell him how late it was. Since he hadn't even noticed people leaving though, he'd probably been stuck too deep in his thoughts for anyone to reach him.

The teen let out a sigh and rose from his seat, stretching his stiff muscles as he did so. He paused before the stairs, contemplating going to sleep, before realizing that he wasn't tired in the slightest. So instead he turned toward the entrance of the common room and crossed the distance in only a few short strides.

Once he was past the portrait, there wasn't even a falter in his footsteps as Harry used his magic to twist the air around him, making himself invisible. Such magic was far more effective than his invisibility cloak, though he conceded that the cloak was very useful when he needed to avoid using magic.

Harry wandered through the halls of the castle until he reached the top of one of Hogwarts' numerous towers. He hesitated outside the door for a moment, listening for noises, and then, when he was sure that no one was outside, slipped through the door.

He leaned against the tower's outer wall and stared out at the expanse of the Scottish Highlands before him. A cold wind brushed by, sending shivers down his spine, and Harry absently heated the air around himself to keep him warm. His eyes stared through the forbidden forest, not really seeing it anymore.

Hiding the fact that he was different had been much more difficult than Harry had thought it would be when first deciding to come to Hogwarts. Just in the first year he'd had to get used to attempting to mimic spells, as well as trying to fit in with everyone else.

As the year had grown stranger and stranger, Harry had become glad for his two friends Ron and Hermione. They frustrated him sometimes, with their simplicity and immaturity—even Hermione, at times—but they'd been the first friends he'd ever had, and for that he was eternally grateful. Unknown to the rest of the school, including Ron and Hermione, however, he'd made other friends and allies amongst the various houses. They'd started out as acquaintances and study mates, but over the years Harry had grown closer to people such as Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Theodore Nott, and Zacharias Smith, to name a few.

All of the strangeness of Hogwarts had accumulated in the end of the year when Harry's curiosity had gotten the better of him and he and his two friends had gone to try to "save" the Philosopher's Stone. There Quirrell had attempted to kill him and Harry had had no choice but to reveal a little bit about what he could really do before Dumbledore had come to "save the day".

After that, Harry knew that he should have expected that his second year would be strange as well, but nothing could have prepared him for the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. The school year itself had been okay—if one ignored the terror that had spread throughout the student body.

He had to admit though that finding out that he could speak to snakes had been fairly interesting. At first he thought that it was just another strange thing about him, but then he'd been told that it was an ability inherited by "dark wizards". To this day Harry wasn't sure whether his ability to speak Parseltongue was connected to Voldemort or his non-wizard-like abilities.

At the end of the year the strangeness had once again culminated in a final meeting. This time he had had to fight off an ancient Basilisk and destroy Riddle's memory. The Basilisk itself hadn't been very difficult to defeat; that had only taken a few minutes. He'd had to make up a story about using Gryffindor's sword to kill the beast though, since Riddle had had his wand during the fight and thus he shouldn't have been able to use magic. Conjuring the sword had been easy enough; one of Harry's strongest abilities was conjuring.

Fortunately, Harry's third year had been much quieter, and thus much easier to keep his abilities hidden. His meeting with his Godfather had made it a year to remember though. Also, finding out about Time-Turners had been interesting, and had caused several ideas to begin whirling around in his mind. Would it be possible to mimic the effects of Time-Turners without having to use one? The only problem was that he'd probably need to understand how time works for that, and that was something that _no one_ knew.

Learning the Patronus Charm was definitely a highlight of that year. It was quite easily the hardest spell that he'd ever had to master, especially since there was little to no know background on the spell. The main reason as to why he'd finally been able to master the spell was really just instinct and desperation.

In contrast to his third year, Harry's fourth year had been the most active of them yet. Unfortunately, it also put a lot of spotlight on him and his magical ability. It was very lucky that no one had caught onto to the fact that he was different, especially since he'd had to get through all of the tasks with everyone's attention solely on him.

After completing the third task, Harry had had to fight with a fully revived Voldemort. _That_ was easily the most terrifying experience he'd ever had to go through—which for him was really saying something. The strangest part about that encounter was when he dueled with Voldemort. For whatever reason—though most likely because he'd survived the Killing Curse—his magic had literally taken control of the situation and connected with Voldemort.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as his thoughts shifted to his fifth year at Hogwarts, a year that was about to end. This year had been his worst year at Hogwarts yet, if not as active as his fourth. The reason for this was because Sirius Black, his Godfather, had been killed. His Godfather, who was his only remaining family. His Godfather, who was the only person Harry, had ever trusted enough to tell his secret.

And now Sirius had taken that secret to the grave.

The dark haired boy sighed softly. The loss of his Godfather was more painful than the loss of his parents, if only because he'd actually had the chance to know his Godfather. Plus, he couldn't help but feel that he could have done _something_ to save Sirius. He'd just been too damn slow and had only turned just in time to watch, horrified, as Sirius fell through the veil. If only he'd been alone, been able to freely use his abilities instead of hiding them...

Harry's hands curled into tight fists. Sometimes he wondered if it would be better stop hiding, if that would solve everything. Then he'd remember what his friends told him all the time: that he wasn't responsible for everything. Harry knew it was true, even though some part of him protested.

He just wished that Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy earlier. He could certainly understand the headmaster's reasons for waiting—if he'd been told during his first or second year he'd probably have just up and left the Wizarding World. Yet if he'd been told just a few months earlier, then he might not have gone to the Ministry. He might have checked with someone other than Kreacher to make sure that Sirius really was in trouble.

_If only, if only,_ he thought dryly. But there was nothing he could do about it. What had happened had happened and that was that.

Harry had to admit though that Dumbledore was in the wrong about not explaining at least _something_ of what was going on when he'd assigned Harry to take Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape. If he'd known that his link with Voldemort worked two ways he would have been a lot more suspicious. On top of that, the "learning" experience had been nerve-wracking since he'd been positive that Snape would uncover his secret. He was sure that it was only because Snape had only been looking for embarrassing memories that he'd gotten away scot-free.

With yet another sigh, Harry wearily ran a hand down his face. Everything was getting too complicated too quickly. He could safely assume that the "power the dark lord knew not" was his abnormal magical abilities, but he still wasn't sure that he could defeat Voldemort. The wizard had _decades_ of fighting experience while Harry only had raw power. He didn't know if that would be enough.

Harry lifted his gaze to the skyline one last time before turning away. He was leaving on the Hogwarts' Express the next morning and he wanted to get at least some sleep that night.

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Settling into Number 4 Privet Drive was never fun, this year even less so. Harry's relatives were grumpy about him being back and Harry himself was in less than a good mood due to his Godfather's death. He was on a short fuse and feared that if he didn't get out soon, he'd do something he'd regret.

As Harry walked from his uncle's car to the front door of his relatives' home—he'd never quite felt comfortable calling it his own home—he shivered unnoticeably as he passed through the wards protecting the house. Normal witches and wizards couldn't feel it, he knew, but Harry could. To him it was like walking through a thin, palpable wall of electricity, except that it didn't hurt. Instead it was like a blanket of energy washing over him, enveloping him. When he'd been younger it had always comforted Harry to know that it was there, even if he hadn't known what it was.

Harry paused to glance back at the invisible wards as he reached the front door. Now though, now he knew _exactly_ what they were. They were blood wards that Dumbledore had erected, using Lily Potter's sacrifice as an anchor. Harry didn't know whether to feel reassured or disturbed by that.

With a shake of his head, as though that would clear his thoughts, Harry turned the door handle and proceeded into the house, Hedwig's cage in hand. His aunt glanced up briefly upon his entrance, a look of annoyance on her face. After only a few moments however, the expression melted away into something else. She stared at Harry, unnerving him greatly. Uncomfortable, he tore his gaze away from hers and proceeded up the stairs to his bedroom.

Harry's bedroom was modest, even by his standards. Everything in it, from the furniture to the curtains on the window, was organized to the point of monotony and there were no personal things lying about—and not just because he'd been away for the past ten months.

The green eyed boy set Hedwig's cage down on his desk and opened the cage door. "There you go girl," he murmured. Hedwig blinked up at him and nibbled his finger affectionately. Harry smiled at the owl; his first friend.

He then picked up his miniature trunk from his pocket and unshrunk it. The Dursleys had never questioned how he unshrunk his trunk every summer; they didn't know enough about magic—or care enough, for that matter—to wonder. Pulling the trunk open, Harry began to rummage around inside of it before finally his hands closed around the worn cover of an old book.

Grinning, Harry pulled the book out and lay back on his bed to read. The book was an old tome about wards that he'd picked up on one of his many "unsanctioned" trips to Diagon Alley and the surrounding streets. He'd hoped that the book might be able to tell him something about why he could "feel" magic, but it wasn't to be. The book was very interesting regardless and he often found himself dissecting the theories for anything that he could use.

Tuning out the sounds of the house, he settled down for a relaxing evening.

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By the middle of July, Harry was starting to get antsy. He'd been at the Dursleys' for less than a month, but he was already missing the Wizarding World. Even going out into the muggle world didn't stop the claustrophobic feeling that surrounded him at home.

And so, one afternoon Harry prepared for a trip to Diagon Alley. He wrapped his magic around him, using it to change the way light reflected off him. This effectively created an illusion that changed his appearance so that he wouldn't be recognized. It'd taken him a little while to figure out how to get the magic to wrap around his skin and move with him, but now that he knew, it was almost like second nature.

After securing the clasp on his robes, Harry concentrated on Diagon Alley. After a moment he encountered the familiar, yet uncomfortable sensation that accompanied Apparation. His surroundings instantaneously shifted from his tiny bedroom to the bustling streets of Diagon Alley. He stepped away from the Apparition Point—one learned rather quickly not to dawdle, lest another Apparated in nearby—and joined the flow of people moving through the streets.

Harry walked with the sure determination of someone who'd been to the Alley numerous times, which indeed Harry had. He often dropped by during the summer months either to shop or just hang out. It was rather relaxing to bask in the normal, easy peace of the Alley when the parts of the wizarding world that he was intimate with were quickly becoming so filled with strife. It was a helpful reminder that not everything was going to hell.

Yet.

At the same time, Harry couldn't help but pity the people who walked through the alley without a care, oblivious to what was really going on beneath the surface. Or maybe it was the opposite—maybe he was jealous of them. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

But if given the choice, Harry knew that he would choose knowing and carrying that burden over "bliss" without a moment's hesitation.

Pushing his turbulent thoughts to the back of his mind, Harry strode into the large building that housed Britain's branch of the Gringotts Wizarding Bank. It had a rather impressive facade, Harry would readily admit, but the service left something to be desired. Goblins were rather nasty creatures with sharp tempers and disgustingly greedy personalities. That being said, they were also some of the most brilliant creatures Harry had ever met. He'd seen goblins do advanced mathematical equations in their head so quickly that it'd leave a _calculator_ green with envy. Harry would have been surprised that there wasn't a goblin teaching Arithmancy at Hogwarts if he hadn't already been acutely aware of the prejudice in the Wizarding World.

"How can I help you?" one of the tellers sneered as Harry stepped up to his desk.

"I need to make a withdrawal," Harry replied impassively. He was too used to the goblins' attitudes to be bothered by it. The teen wordlessly pulled out his vault key and handed it to the goblin without waiting to be asked.

The goblin barely glanced at the key before directing him to a goblin that could take him down into the vaults. For whatever reason, goblins were always able to tell whether a vault key belonged to the person holding it, whether that person was disguised or not. It was a blessing for Harry since he was almost always under an illusion when he visited the bank.

From there, getting his money was a simple, easy process. Harry had taken the cart ride so many times before that now the trip seemed to blur by. Only a few minutes later he was standing outside once again, a bag of gold in his pocket.

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing and buying a few things that felt he had need of, including ice cream. After all, just because he had the weight of the world on his shoulders didn't mean that he wasn't still a teenager.

When Harry finally Apparated back into his room the sun was only just beginning to set. He removed the illusions around him and sank into his bed with a grateful sigh. Of course, it was at that very moment that the doorbell rang.

"BOY! Get the door!" his uncle boomed.

With an annoyed groan, Harry pushed himself up off his bed. He stomped downstairs, throwing a glare in the direction of the kitchen as he did, and then threw open the front door.

Waiting outside was—thankfully—no one he knew, but instead a rather tall, lean man dressed in casual clothing. There was a blood red stone hanging from a chain around his neck, but other than that there was nothing peculiar about him. He was just your average, everyday muggle.

"Can I help you?" Harry asked, repressing a sigh. There was a new book about charms up in his room that he'd much rather be reading.

"Perhaps," the man drawled. To Harry's great surprise, he didn't have a British accent. The teen couldn't even place exactly where his accent from; he certainly hadn't heard it before. "I'm looking for someone—a boy named Harry Potter."

Instantly Harry's paranoia was kicked into overdrive. He straightened his back while narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the man. Surely the Death Eaters couldn't come to his relatives' house, not with the wards...?

"Yeah?" Harry replied neutrally. He attempted to even his expression out the best he could, but the man had already noted the sudden change in his demeanor, if his sharp grin was anything to go by.

"Oh good," he commented with a rather predatory expression. "I would have hated to have had to search around for you."

In that moment, Harry felt something crackle between them like lightning. He reacted immediately, instinctively bringing his magic up to shield himself, but was thrown back into the house anyway.

Harry staggered onto his feet, staring at the man in shock. He was following Harry into the house with a wide, crazed grin stretched across his face.

"Ooh, how _interesting_," the man cooed. "The little wizard might be more than a lucky mouse after all." His eyes, though shining with glee, were also glazed with insanity.

The man raised his arms up and though Harry couldn't see it, he could clearly feel energy racing between them—magic, he realized belatedly. But he wasn't using a wand, which was impossible.

A few moments later, Harry remembered that he didn't use a wand either.

Uncaring about his secret for the first time in his life, Harry lashed out at the insane man without bothering to pretend to use his wand. Even through the confusion and fear that clouded his mind, it was obvious to Harry that this man wasn't a Death Eater and that he was stronger than anything Harry had faced before.

The man easily halted the chair flying in his direction and sent it soaring back at Harry with barely a wave of his hand. Harry could faintly hear screams—Aunt Petunia, no doubt—in the background, but paid little attention to them as he focused on just staying alive. He sent another spell at his opponent, his heart pounding in his chest and his blood practically humming in his veins.

Harry had never felt so terrified for his own life before, not even against Voldemort. This man...This man was something entirely different from everything he'd come into contact with before. He was on a completely different level and even though Harry was going all out at the moment, he was slowly but steadily being worn down and pushed back.

"Surrender, child," the man purred. He was tossing a fireball—a fireball! How was that even possible?!—between his hands as he stalked closer to Harry. "I don't want to hurt you—you won't be much good to me damaged. And whole, well, whole you'll reveal so many little secrets that have eluded us for so long..."

Harry didn't have the faintest idea what the man was talking about, but facing danger as he was, he couldn't quite bring himself to care. He snarled wordlessly at the man as he gasped for breath. He was exhausted already? How long had it been since the fight had started? How long had he been struggling for?

Shrugging casually at Harry's feral response, the man tossed the fireball at him. Harry used his magic to harden the air before him to create a shield, hoping to divert the attack in another direction. The house was already in ruins as it was, so one more fireball didn't matter.

In retrospect, it wasn't one of his brightest ideas.

When the fireball hit the "shield", the compressed air instantly gave a massive amount of fuel to the already raging fire, allowing it to combust past its previous range. In a few words, it was like throwing a burning match into a tank of fuel.

A gasp tore from Harry's throat as he was thrown back into the nearest wall. His head collided sharply with the wood panelling and he instantly crumpled to the floor. He could feel something warm running down the back of his neck, but didn't have enough strength left to even attempt to sit up.

Harry weakly lifted his head from the floor as he watched the man walk closer. The psycho didn't even pause as the glass from a broken picture frame crunched beneath his boots. Nearby, Harry could just make out the photo that the frame had once held. It was the only one in the house that had him in it—albeit, on the very edge of the photo—but now his image had been completely burned away by the flames licking one of the house's walls.

As the man finally stopped a foot from him, Harry's eyes drifted shut and his world was swallowed up by darkness.

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A/N: And finally we have the first chapter the awaited _Atra Regnum_, the rewrite of _Shades of Gray_. This first chapter was a little dry, in my opinion, because I had to go over a lot of Harry's past. You'll also notice that this first chapter is relatively the same as Shades of Gray in terms of content, though there are obviously a few very big changes. The second chapter, however, is where the story takes a massive turn from SoG.

I've gotten a lot of questions about how AR will be different from SoG, so let me explain something:

A little known fact is that I actually wrote the first ten chapters of _Shades of Gray_ three years ago, in 2006 (just before Deathly Hallows was released, as it were). After a while I pushed the story aside to work on other things, but in the summer of '08 I pulled the story out, polished it up, and put it online. However, in the three years between the first draft of the story and now, my style of writing has changed a bit and the story itself has changed too—grown, really. So after a lot of thought I decided that I wanted to do a rewrite. Basically a much clearer final draft, including a number of large plot and character changes.

I've been working on that rewrite—this story—for over nine months now while simultaneously continuing _Shades of Gray_. You'll notice that _Atra Regnum_ and _Shades of Gray_ will have some similarities as well as some major differences. The basic plot line will be exactly the same and some of the later chapters will be nearly identical, however I'll also be completely redoing a lot of the beginning. There'll be a few new OCs and some of the old ones will never show up.

I've had a lot of fun working on this rewrite so far, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it! The second chapter will be posted as soon as it finishes going through beta round 2, which should be in a day or so. Check my profile for more detailed updates. Oh, and before I forget to mention it, "Atra Regnum" means "Dark Kingdom" in Latin. You'll have to read further into the story to find out why.

Finally, I'd like to give some major thanks to my two beta readers, solunvar (editor) and Teufel1987 (British checker). They've both done a lot to help polish up the story.

--S.R.


	2. Chapter 2: The Missing Frame

Title: Atra Regnum  
Author: Shadow Rebirth  
Beta Readers: solunvar, Teufel1987  
Rating: T/PG-13  
Warnings: Death, blood and gore, language, spoilers  
Chapter WC: 4,380  
Story WC: 9,225  
First Written: January 16, 2009  
Last Edited: September 9, 2009  
Posted: September 9, 2009  
Summary: Harry has a dark secret: He isn't a wizard. But that certainly doesn't mean he can't do magic. It was too bad it also meant that in the face of fanatical governments and enraged demigods, Voldemort was going to be the least of his problems. [AU, no pairings.]

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Atra Regnum

Chapter 2_  
The Missing Frame_

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Even before he opened his eyes, Harry was aware that he was lying in a hospital bed. He'd been in one enough times to instantly recognize the feel of the crisp sheets beneath him and the sterile smell that permeated the air. He began to sigh, annoyed to be in such a predicament yet again, only to abruptly remember what had last happened to him.

Harry shot up in bed, his head snapping around to each side, swiftly scanning his surroundings. His pounding heart began to slow down a bit when he realized that he was alone in the room. Then his fear receded further and was replaced by confusion as he immediately recognized a few Muggle machines in the room, including a heart monitor. These electrical items were offset, however, by a few other items that were clearly magical in origin, including what looked like a few potions bottles in an open cabinet on the other side of the room.

As Harry sat staring around in confusion, a woman dressed in a light blue uniform stepped into the room. The teen tensed, expecting the worst, but all she did was stare down at the clipboard in her hand, instead of paying attention to him. When she finally did look up, she didn't look wary to see him awake, just surprised.

"Oh," she said after a moment. "I hadn't expected for you to wake up for some time yet, Mr. Potter. Please wait while I get Dr.—"

"It can wait for a bit," a second voice interrupted. "I'm sure the boy would like to have questions answered before he gets fawned over by a doctor. He's not in any danger anyway; his concussion was taken care of, yes?"

The woman frowned, but nodded to whoever was standing just beyond the doorway. With a sigh, she turned and exited Harry's room. As she left, the teen was struck with a sudden thought: Were her ears _pointed_?

Unfortunately, that thought was derailed before it could go any further because the man who'd been speaking stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Harry tensed, immediately cautious. Sure, this man didn't seem threatening, but then, that loon who'd attacked him hadn't seemed strange at first either.

This man was rather average, Harry noted as he pulled up a seat next to the hospital bed. He was skinny and a bit on the short side. He looked young—hardly older than thirty, Harry thought—and had dark auburn hair and brown eyes.

"Hello, Harry," the man greeted cheerfully. His eyes were bright, sparkling with life. This time, Harry noticed that he spoke with a slight French accent. "My name is Christophe Grosvenor. I was assigned to your case by the government and I'm here to answer any questions that you may have."

Harry found all of this more than just a little strange, not to mention surreal. Hell, he was still pretty sure that this was some sort of Death Eater trap—though that certainly didn't mean that he was going to pass up an opportunity to get some answers.

"What happened?" he asked immediately. "Where am I? Why am I here?"

"You're in the Caelius Magical Hospital in London," Christophe replied without missing a beat. "You were suffering from a mild concussion, second degree burns, numerous lacerations, and magical exhaustion, among other things, but as you can tell that's all been taken care of."

Harry frowned as he lifted his arms from beneath the sheets. True to Christophe's word, he was completely healed now. He still felt a little tired, but other than that it was as though the attack had never happened. His frown deepened.

"Do...do you know what happened?" he inquired hesitatingly. He lifted his gaze to Christophe's and found only solemnity there. The man's suddenly grave expression made Harry freeze for a moment.

"I would first like to express my deepest apologies for what has happened to you. Normally the IMPs are exceptional at keeping incidents like this from happening, but every now and then...Well, the man who attacked you was a mage by the name of Akeldama. He was a Death Master who grew quite obsessed with his work and who, as we just recently found out, began illegal experimentation to further his research. He's in custody now and—"

"Whoa, whoa," Harry interrupted. "Imps? Mage? _Death_ Master? What are you talking about?!"

Christophe smiled sheepishly. "Forgive me; I jumped ahead in my explanation. I suppose the only way to do this without you becoming irrevocably confused is to start with the very basics and expand from there."

"Yes, that might be a little helpful," the dark haired boy muttered sarcastically. Without realizing it, he'd already begun to relax a bit Christophe's presence.

The older man's smile widened. "Indeed," Christophe murmured. Then he sighed. "This will be a bit lengthy, so forgive me if I miss a few details... In the end, however, it all comes down to this: This world that we live in is split into three parts: The Muggle World, the Wizarding World, and the Magical World. Each of these functions in complete separation from the others, and with a varying degree of awareness of the others.

"The Muggle World is, obviously, the society belonging to the Muggles; mundane humans with no magical talent. The Wizarding World is the society that belongs to wizards. The Magical World is the name for the society belonging to magical beings."

Harry stared at Christophe, already confused. "...Aren't wizards 'magical beings'?"

"No, not by definition," the Frenchman answered with a shake of his head. "It's— Ah..." He scratched the back of his head, smiling awkwardly. "Well, I'm no History or Theory Master, but I believe it stems back many thousands of years, to the beginning of human evolution. At this time there were two different species that evolved: _Homo sapiens_ and _Homo magus_, which are Latin for 'wise humans' and 'magical humans' respectively. Though these two races have interbred a lot over the years, for the most part _Homo sapiens_ are the Muggles that you know today and _Homo magus_ are the magical beings.

"As time progressed, _Homo magus_ split off into several different subspecies: Mages, vampires, elves, fayeries, dwarves, and goblins. However, there are several other species that are considered to be magical beings, although they come from slightly different origins. These include werewolves, centaurs, veela, and drakyns. All of these species are capable of manipulating energy, but I won't get into more about magic, because, as I said, theory really isn't my forte.

"Anyway, around five thousand years ago, wizards came into existence. They are a subspecies of mages, their 'magical cousins' as it were. They're more of a cross between _Homo magus_ and _Homo sapiens_ than anything else. Over time the wizards slowly split from the Magical World and created their own society—the Wizarding World. By now they've completely forgotten about us magical beings, just as the muggles have."

For several long moments Harry sat in silence, digesting everything he'd been told. It seemed so fanciful, so utterly impossible. But then, that was exactly how he'd felt about the Wizarding World when he'd first been introduced to it. Plus, this explained everything that had happened to him, especially the "wandless magic".

"So none of these magical beings use wands?" Harry asked finally, curiosity coloring the voice.

Still smiling, Christophe nodded. "Wands are used by wizards to access their magic, but magical beings don't need any such handicap."

"Then..." The teen hesitated. "Uh, well you, see, I—"

"I know," Christophe calmly cut in before he could go any farther. "The IMPs arrived on the scene at your house just before you fell unconscious. They saw your, ah, 'wandless' abilities and Akeldama confirmed it. During your stay in this hospital—you've been unconscious for almost two days, by the way. Magical exhaustion is a nasty thing—the doctors have run a few simple energy- and blood-related tests and have confirmed that you are indeed a mage." He paused for a moment, suddenly looking unsure. "It should be impossible," he admitted, "But it's the truth nonetheless."

Harry wasn't sure whether to feel ecstatic or devastated. On one hand, this was a fantastic opportunity for him to finally be able expand upon his abilities. On the other hand, he'd been proven to once _again_ be different. It seemed that it was impossible for him to fit in anywhere. Indeed, that's all his life had been: One impossibility after another.

"Imps," Harry abruptly said. "You've mentioned them a few times. What are they?"

"Ah, right, IMPs. They're the International Magical Police. They're basically the military force in the Magical World. They keep everything running smoothly and deal with all the crime. They're very effective at their jobs; the best of the best, as it were. With the massive numbers of powerful people that we have in the Magical World it's necessary for them to be so."

Christophe sighed abruptly. He stood while stretching his arms above his head and winced when his back cracked audibly.

"Anyway, I should get going for now; the doctors will want to see you, to check you over," the older man commented.

"Wait—!" Harry said suddenly as the man turned to leave. He flushed slightly in embarrassed when Christopher turned back to him. "Uh, that is— I mean...Do you know why Aka— Alke—"

"Akeldama?"

"Er, yeah, him. Why did he attack me? Before the...fight...he thought I was just a wizard, right?"

Christopher smiled sadly. "I'm not the right person to ask that," he said softly. "You'd have to ask a Death Master for details...But I can say that it has to do with your status as the Boy-Who-Lived. Even in the Magical World you're the first person to ever survive a direct hit from a concentration of death magic, which is basically what the Killing Curse is. For years Death Masters have wanted to study you, to find out how such a feat is possible, but the government has held them at bay. Well, at least until Akeldama..."

Christopher's eyes drifted over to the door. He opened his mouth, as though to say something more, but closed it with a shake of his head. The auburn haired man nodded once to Harry and then strode from the room.

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Less than ten minutes later the doctor walked into the room. Harry was grateful for the time in-between because it gave him time to think over and analyze all the new information that he'd been given.

The doctor was an older man with pale hair and amber colored eyes that Harry could swear he'd seen before. When the man opened his mouth to speak, the teen noticed that his canines were far sharper than usual.

"I'm sorry," Harry began once the doctor had finished speaking—though exactly what he'd said, Harry had no idea, "But...Are you a...vampire?"

The doctor blinked once, surprised, before chuckling. "Oh no, certainly not," he replied, easily waving away Harry's embarrassed apologies. "If you're judging that based on my teeth, then let me tell you that vampires' teeth only show when they're going to feed. Otherwise their teeth are just like that of a mage. No, I'm a werewolf."

"Oh." What else could he say to that? "I, uh..." He paused for a moment, struggling against his curiosity. As always, the curiosity won out. "I have to admit that I'm a bit confused. I know a werewolf but he has to use a wand to perform magic as far as I know. So how is it that werewolves are magical beings...?"

"Am I to assume that your friend was bitten?"

"...Er, yes?"

The doctor smiled gently. "Then that's your answer right there," he said. "There's a rather large difference between werewolves that are bitten and born, 'true' werewolves. Werewolves that were bitten are in reality just a carrier of a man-made disease that has a rather nasty history." He frowned tightly, clearly displeased. "In a way they're a by-product of us werewolves, but they retain the same abilities as whatever their base race was. In your friend's case, I assume he was a wizard who was bitten by another bitten werewolf. As such, magically he remains a wizard.

"We werewolves are actually quite different than Muggle legends describe," the man added offhandedly. "But that's mainly because we stay out of the spotlight while the bitten werewolves have been known to the whole world at one point or another. We 'true' werewolves don't undergo transformations like our bitten counterparts and are not ruled by our instincts in the same way. We are the sons of the Moon."

Harry nodded absently as he listened to the explanation. It made sense to him, even if it was quite complicated. He wasn't sure whether he should feel happy or sad that Lupin wasn't one of these "true werewolves". It seemed like all he'd been feeling lately were conflicting emotions.

"Well," the doctor said with a heavy sigh. "You look to be entirely healed. Within a few days the last traces of your magical exhaustion should fade and you'll be back at one hundred percent."

"What's going to happen then? I...I can't exactly go back to my relatives...—My relatives! What happened to them?!"

The doctor quirked an eyebrow and glanced at Harry over the top of his clipboard. "Your Muggle relatives? They're fine. They were taken to a nearby Muggle hospital for superficial wounds. Your house, however, is another story. Apparently it was completely destroyed; burnt down to the ground. As for what you're going to do...Well, that's what Mr. Grosvenor is here for."

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Alastor Moody closed the door behind him with a harrowed look on his face. He limped over to where Dumbledore was standing in the Muggle hospital hallway.

"Well?" Dumbledore demanded. "What did the Dursleys say?"

"They said it was a man dressed in Muggle clothing," Moody replied gruffly. He sank down into the nearest seat with a grunt. "He knocked on the door, Harry answered it, and then the man attacked. The Muggles fled after that, so they saw nothing else."

Dumbledore released a weary sigh and took a seat next to the old ex-auror. His lined face was sunken and worn, making him look even older than usual. He gripped the chair's arms with long, bony fingers in order to stop his hands from shaking.

"Then we have no idea where Harry could be," he muttered. "And the tracking charms are not working...A man dressed as a Muggle though? It doesn't seem like the style of a Death Eater."

"None of this seems like the Death Eaters' style," Moody snorted. "But that might just be to throw us off."

"True, true," Dumbledore agreed. "But what really baffles me, are the wards. They were blood wards, supposedly unbreakable. But somehow they were completely ripped to shreds. It shouldn't be possible, but..."

"Albus..." Moody hesitated. "I get the feeling that we're dealing with something different here. Something about this whole situation is just...off. The Dursleys' house clearly shows signs of a fight, but the Ministry says Potter didn't use any magic."

"Someone must have helped him," the elder wizard mused. "Someone else must have been there...There's no other possibility. The only question is who."

Moody chuckled darkly. "Who indeed."

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It wasn't long before Harry got a chance to speak with Christophe Grosvenor again. Now that he'd had time to think everything through—and come to the conclusion that it was definitely true; he'd seen a nurse with green skin earlier. Green!—he had a whole slew of questions to ask.

"Earlier you mentioned that a bunch of different races are magical beings. What's the difference between them?" Harry asked curiously.

Christophe chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "Well mages are the oldest of the _Homo magus_ family, making them the most human-like. Vampires, the next race, are...Well, to be honest they're quite different from the Muggle legends. I believe that they're actually the end result of some sort of disease or something, but that doesn't matter. The outcome is that they don't have blood of their own like we mages do. Instead they have to ingest the blood of animals and are very pale. Their pale skin then started a whole slew of Muggle legends that don't have an ounce of truth, including that vampires can't stand the sunlight or that—"

"Wait, wait, they only drink animal blood?" Harry interrupted. "I thought that...Well, that they drink blood from humans...?"

"Another Muggle myth, born from fear," Christophe said dismissively. "To a vampire, drinking human blood would be like a human eating human meat. Cannibalism. Supposedly it tastes disgusting as well. Anyway, the next would be elves. Muggle myths are surprisingly accurate when concerning them, though they completely miss the fact that there are many different subspecies. These subspecies correlate with various elements. There are wood elves, ice elves, flame elves, nymphs, and drows. There used to be water elves too, once, but they evolved into ice elves and the merpeople.

"Nymphs and drows are the most different and rare breeds of the elves. While most elves are the same race as their parents, both nymphs and drows are a genetic anomaly and as such can be born into any race. Nymphs also always female and have white or silver hair and very pale eyes. They specialize in healing, but also are the Seers of the Magical World. True Seers, mind you—the seers you know of in the Wizarding World are only humans with traces of nymph blood. Nymphs can't really see the future, but rather they can see what, out of the infinite possibilities, is the most likely to take place. It's a bit more complicated than that, but I've never studied divination."

Harry had never put much stock in divination, not after his experiences at Hogwarts, but he had to admit that Christophe's explanation made sense. Perhaps that was just what prophecies were: The events most likely to take place.

"Drows, on the other hand, are the exact opposite of nymphs. The darkness to their light, I've once heard said. Always male with dark hair and eyes, they are Readers; capable of viewing the past of any person or object. Much like the nymphs however, their abilities are also not quite so simple. They see all the possible pasts, alternate possibilities of an item. Because of this, many people find their abilities to be...faulty, for lack of a better term. That they're even rarer than nymphs—one in every 3,000, I believe—doesn't help.

"Fayeries..." The older Frenchman hesitated. "Fayeries are the most...unique of the races, if I do say so myself. They're the older, intelligent cousins in the fairy family. All fayeries have very pale hair. They have pointed ears, but much less so than elves. Their main distinguishing feature is their teeth, which are all very sharp and pointy, and their skin, which is a bluish green color. They also sometimes tend to glide rather than walk. Very otherworldly, from a Muggle's point of view.

"Unlike the rest of the Magical World, fayeries don't like to interact much. They live on a large, unplottable island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The only way to get there is through a fayerie ring—their main form of transportation which, just like in the legends, are identified as rings of inedible mushrooms about five feet in diameter. They can use them to get to another fayerie ring anywhere in the world—and non-fayeries can only go if invited. The island is called Avalon, or Tir-na-nog in the fayeries' language. All fayeries are born on Avalon and no one ever sees a fayerie until they go to school, unless under special circumstances.

"The dwarves are also much like Muggle legends portray them. Though I will say that dwarf women do not grow any facial hair and many dwarf men don't either. Dwarves once had many cities all over the world, in cave systems in the mountains, but over the past few millennia their race has begun to die out. There now is only one dwarven city left: Hallthor, which lies in the Greenland Magical Reserve. It is supposedly the greatest of the dwarven cities, containing over 500,000 dwarves, but few magical beings are allowed inside.

"The dwarves have a self-sufficient society, but, being mainly miners and smiths, they do sell their products to the magical world. Dwarven-made weapons are in high demand and dwarven smiths are often praised for their talent.

"Goblins you probably know all about because they're so prevalent in the Wizarding World," Christophe commented. "They're a very warlike race with close ties to the earth. It's rumored that they share kinship with the dwarves, but nothing's ever been proven.

"Next would be werewolves, I suppose. It's known that they're descended from an ancient canine race, but the precise details have been lost to time. They don't transform into humanoid wolves on the full moon like bitten werewolves do, but rather are capable of transforming into full wolf-like forms at any time. It's much like the Animagus transformations that wizards can do, but the process is a bit different. They are, however, affected by the moon. Their magic is substantially increased during the full moon and their wolf side becomes antsy. They also refer to the moon as 'Mother Moon'.

"Centaurs I'm sure you know about as well. They are capable of magic just like the rest of us magical beings, but for the most part decide not to use their abilities. They take care of the land instead, making sure that the Muggles and wizards don't desecrate the legacies we've left behind.

"The veela too are known to the Wizarding World. They descend from an ancient harpy race and, similar to werewolves, have retained the ability to transform into an avian form. They're a matriarchal society because their women tend to be far more powerful than their men.

"And finally, the drakyns are perhaps the most mysterious of all the magical beings. They're a reptile-humanoid race descending from the ancient dragons, which were far different than the dragons that exist today. They have dark purple skin, black claw-like nails, black hair, and eyes that are pure black except for a silver slit for a pupil. They're supposedly a warrior race, but they rarely ever leave Malauak, their city. They're even more secluded than the fayeries and distance themselves from the rest of the world. In fact, their ambassador is generally the only drakyn ever seen."

"So many races," Harry murmured. His head was spinning from all the information that he'd been given.

"I guess," the older man shrugged. "You'll get used to it soon enough though. It's a lot to take in—"

Harry snorted derisively. "Well that's putting it lightly," he snapped. "I've just found out about another secret society beyond the one I'd already known about. And that's not shocking at _all_. I— ...Forgive me," he said more softly as he rubbed his temple to ward off his encroaching headache. He was just confused and in his confusion he wanted to lash out. "I just...I— ...There's no going back now, is there?"

Christophe's expression softened slightly at Harry's lost expression. "No, I'm afraid not," he agreed. "The security laws of the Magical World are both stricter and looser than those found in the Wizarding World. You'll be expected to swear a magical oath soon to not divulge the secrets you've learned. Plus, now that we know that you're a mage there's the matter of your education..."

Harry's eyes widened in realization. Schooling hadn't even occurred to him, though it seemed utterly obvious now that he thought about it. Suddenly a giddy feeling rose up within him. There were schools here in this world that taught people like him—magical beings, what an incredible thought!—how to use wandless magic. A whole new avenue of opportunities had just opened up before him. He didn't have to hide any longer, didn't have to pretend to be less than he was.

It was an incredibly freeing thought.

"What kind of schools do you have?" Harry asked eagerly. "What do they teach?"

The Frenchman laughed, amused by Harry's abrupt turnaround in attitude. The teen flushed slightly, but his determined expression never faltered.

"You're quite lucky to have discovered the magical world at this age," Christophe said flippantly. "We magical beings grow...differently than both Muggles and wizards. Because we live on average for four to five hundred years—though it varies from race to race—our magical abilities mature more slowly as well.

"Wizards begin their magical schooling at the age of eleven because that's when their magic stabilizes enough for them to safely use it. For magical beings, this age is sixteen. As such we have had a system in place for many millennia to work around this. Magical beings finish their basic schooling from the ages of five to fifteen—instead of seventeen as it is in the Muggle world—and then proceed into a separate school for their magical schooling. As such, magical beings graduate at the age of twenty and from there have a choice to either enter directly into the working world or attend a magical university to get a Mastery in a particular subject."

"And how would I join a magical school?"

"You have to apply. I can give you a pamphlet later that lists some of the schools. You'll probably have to take a test that determines your magical ability too, as that affects whether or not you can get in, but from what I've heard, I doubt that you'll have any problems with that."

Harry spent the next few minutes grilling Christophe for more details. When he finally thought he'd learned enough, the dark haired teen leaned back in his bed and turned his gaze onto the ceiling.

"Anything else?" Christophe asked patiently.

Harry shook his head mutely. He'd learned more than enough for one day. It was true what they said, he thought: In a single moment the world _can_ change.

And Harry's world had irrevocably changed the moment Akeldama had knocked on his front door.

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A/N: Mostly just info and theory for this chapter. For those of you who haven't read SoG, more information on the races with be given as the story progresses, so don't worry about remembering everything. You can also find a comprehensive list of information on my website.

For those you who _have_ read SoG, you can clearly tell that in this chapter I've completely deviated from the original. The races and magical history of this rewrite are going to be more developed than SoG. Dark elves have been changed to drows for a variety of reason, partially to be blamed on a friend of mine who was very useful to bounce ideas off of, but mainly because "darkness" is not a real, tangible element like the other races and I didn't want to have them control light waves/particles because that would make them "light elves" and would also be more general energy manipulation, rather than elemental manipulation.

Thanks for all your reviews for the last chapter!

--S.R.


	3. Chapter 3: Begin Again

Title: Atra Regnum  
Author: Shadow Rebirth  
Beta Reader: solunvar, Teufel1987  
Rating: T/PG-13  
Warnings: Death, blood and gore, language, spoilers  
Chapter WC: 4,327  
Story WC: 13,552  
First Written: May 31, 2009  
Last Edited: November 21, 2009  
Posted: November 17, 2009  
Summary: Harry has a dark secret: He isn't a wizard. But that certainly doesn't mean he can't do magic. It was too bad it also meant that in the face of fanatical governments and enraged demigods, Voldemort was going to be the least of his problems. [AU, no pairings.]

* * *

Atra Regnum

Chapter 3_  
Begin Again_

* * *

Harry was released from the Caelius Magical Hospital at eight o'clock in the morning. He was well aware of the specific time because he'd been unable to sleep the night before. His doctor said it was because his body was energized since he'd recovered from his magical exhaustion. Harry was just glad that he was _finally_ feeling better. He'd been in the hospital for the past four days and was definitely ready for a change of scenery.

"So… What's next?" Harry asked. He was standing on the edge of the street with Christophe, feeling decidedly odd to be back in the Muggle World after seeing all of the strange things and people in the Magical World.

"Well," the Frenchman began, "The school applications that you filled out yesterday should be processed by now—"

"Already?" Harry cut in, surprised.

Christophe grinned. "You forget that you're a very special case, Harry. Word about that attack on you has already spread throughout most of the Magical World. A lot of schools are vying to get your attendance. Not to mention that applications are usually due by January, so yours is the only one they have to look at right now."

Harry repressed the urge to sigh. It seemed that even here he had somewhat of a "celebrity status". Would he ever be able to escape from the limelight?

"Anyway," Christophe continued, "Since the applications should be processed by now, over the next few days you're going to have interviews with various schools so that they can test your magical potential. I believe there are a few scheduled for this morning. We're going to head over to London's branch of the Magical Bureau of Education right now for said appointments."

"And we're going to get there via…?"

"Magical beings are able to Apparate," Christophe said, answering Harry's unasked question. "We also are the inventors of portkeys. Those two forms of transportation were retained by the Wizarding World even after they broke away from the Magical World. Today, however, we're going to take the good old-fashioned Underground. There's a ward-protected stop for Londinium, the magical sector of London."

Harry blinked in surprise. "You mean there's _another_ magical sector, other than Diagon Alley?" he asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

Christophe laughed at Harry's expression. "Of course! It's actually one of the oldest parts of London, along the Thames River. And unlike Diagon Alley, it's not just a series of alleys, but rather an entire magical _sector_. You should be able to get an apartment there." He hesitated for a moment. "We can pay for it, if you'd like, as compensation—"

"It's fine," Harry said quickly. "My parents left me a fair amount of money. Not millions, but more than enough to buy a house, let alone a flat. Speaking of which, where am I going to stay tonight?"

"We can get you a hotel room—and we _will_ pay for it. It's the least we can do. Starting tomorrow we can help you to look for an apartment."

"'We'," the dark haired teen said suddenly. "You keep saying 'we', but I don't think you've ever mentioned exacting who you work for."

Christophe shrugged apologetically. "I work for the Magical Bureau of International Affairs, which is basically the main branch of the government. Unlike the Muggle and Wizarding Worlds, the Magical World has long since become unified under a single government. It's probably because of how long our society has been around for, as well as because it's so easy to travel from one place to another," he replied. "It's almost impossible for us to _not_ have become unified, especially because of our efforts to keep our society hidden."

"I have to wonder about that," Harry said slowly. "I mean, if magical beings are so powerful and numerous, than why do they keep themselves hidden? After all, you didn't go through witch hunts like the Wizarding World did, right?"

To Harry's great surprise, Christophe smiled sadly. "That is in fact a subject of great debate in the Magical World," he answered. "You see, thousands of years ago we magical beings were considered to be gods by the muggles. And there were in fact some among us who were essentially 'demigods', even to us. Many muggle legends tell about those such as Ra, Zeus, and Merlin."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Merlin?" he repeated incredulously. "_Merlin_ was a magical being?! I thought he was a wizard!"

"No, he was a mage," Christophe said with a laugh. "He was well-known to the Wizarding World however. He believed that it was our duty as magical beings to help those weaker than us. He was a part of a political faction known as the Crusaders who have been pushing for our re-emergence in the Muggle and Wizarding Worlds for over a millennia now."

"That's the debate that you were talking about earlier," Harry guessed.

"Yes," the older mage agreed. "Many magical beings believe that we should stay hidden and allow the rest of the world to develop on their own. There are others, however—myself included—who see how the muggles and wizards are tearing themselves apart and think that we should step in to moderate." Christophe shook his head sadly. "It feels as though we've been absent for too long. Just within the past century the Muggle and Wizarding worlds have suffered from more than a dozen different genocides…"

Christophe sighed and then shook his head again. Harry hesitated, uncertain as to whether or not he should give his opinion. It was a topic that he knew nothing about; after all, the Wizarding World never considered revealing themselves to the muggles. He couldn't help but wonder how the wizards would react if they learnt about the amount of magical beings out there though, Harry thought with a small grin. If it'd been earthshaking for _Harry_, who'd had wandless abilities, then he couldn't even begin to imagine their shock.

"Anyway, look at us, just standing around, talking about politics," Christophe said with a laugh. "I'm sure that it's not something you want to hear about within your first week in the Magical World."

Harry shrugged. "It's fine, really. It's something that I should know about if I'll be a part of the society long-term."

"True," the mage agreed. "I suppose that it particularly affects you since you used to be a part the Wizarding World. Not to mention everything that went on with the 'Dark Lord'..."

Harry could tell that Christophe wanted to ask more about Voldemort, but thankfully the older man held his tongue. Voldemort and the Death Eaters weren't subjects that he wanted to even _think_ about right now.

Although, he did have to wonder: Would he be free of their war now? Not that he could ever just abandon his friends like that, but still...

"Well, as I was saying, we shouldn't just stand around here," Christophe continued. "Let's head towards the subway, shall we?"

* * *

For a few seconds, all Harry could do was gape in surprise. He knew that Christophe had said that there was a train stop just for magical beings, but he hadn't been expecting _this._

Unlike the muggle platforms, this one was made of smooth, white and blue marble tiles. There were a few faux Roman pillars lining the edge of the platform and leading up to the stairs at the far end. There were only a few people other than Christophe getting on and off at the stop. All of them were obviously magical beings, Harry thought as he watched a fayerie—one of those strange, white haired, bluish green skinned beings—walk onto the train. She didn't get so much as a glance from the muggle passengers, indicating an illusion enchantment of some sort. With a jerk of his head, Christophe led Harry up the stairs and into what seemed like another world.

Spread out before the was what could only pass for a normal street if you were blind—and even then the sounds of hawkers selling their wares would dissuade one of such notion. While the streets _were_ set up in a fashion similar to Muggle ones, the architecture was an interesting mix of ancient and modern styles that left Harry stunned for a brief moment. Many buildings had Roman and Greek columns, arches and designs. There were many miniscule, arty details covering almost everything Harry could see.

Directly across from the subway station was a large fountain made from sort of silvery stone that Harry had never seen before. There were balls of colored light floating in the middle of it, bobbing up and down and intertwining in various complex formations. Behind the fountain was a shop with a sign proclaiming, "Vash's Illustrious Potions". Next to that was a store selling computers that had a griffin standing out front, tied to a post. Harry gaped openly at the sight.

"Computers?" he said faintly. "Magical beings use _computers_?"

"Of course," Christophe said, as though surprised that Harry would even ask. After a moment understanding dawned on his face. "Ah, I'd forgotten that wizards aren't able to use electronics. We have long since managed to come up with a solution to prevent our electromagnetic waves from interfering though. Admittedly, the electronics have to be specially made by magical companies, but just that they work is a blessing."

Harry couldn't even being to think of a reply. The Magical World was just so _different_ from what he was used to. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the mix of mundane and magical worlds quite yet.

"Right," Harry said faintly. "So, to the Bureau of Education then...?"

"Ah, yes. Right this way."

Christophe led Harry down the street, but the teen hardly paid attention to the path that they took. He was too busy peering curiously around, trying to take in all the sights. Several blocks down, however, they finally came to a large Roman building with a concave curved exterior. There were numerous statues lining the pathway that led up to the great, arched doors, one of which Harry recognized as Merlin.

Seeing Harry's gaze, Christophe murmured, "I forgot to mention, but Merlin actually founded one of our magical schools, the Silvermoor Academy of Magic. Today Silvermoor is one of the most prestigious schools in the Magical World, beating out even some of the oldest ones in Egypt, China, and Italy."

Harry nodded slowly. He continued to stare at the statue as they passed by, but soon his attention turned onto the others. Some of them were dressed in various styles of armor—mainly Roman, he noted—but most were wearing robes.

The inside of the Magical Bureau of Education was just as grand as the outside, stone hallways and all. Christophe spoke briefly with a receptionist at the front desk before waving Harry over to a lift on the left. A few floors up and several hallways over, they finally walked into a small room with another receptionist desk. The back wall was lined with chairs, all of which were filled.

As soon as Harry and Christophe had stepped inside, the various people practically leapt from their seats.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter," a pale, dark eyed woman said. She reached out and shook Harry's hand before he had the chance to respond. "A pleasure. I'm Master Eleonora Adrastus from the Damocles Institute in Rome, Italy—"

"—Mr. Potter, I've been looking forward to meeting you—"

"—From the Delphi Academia—"

Harry felt as though he'd hit by a tidal wave as various professors forcefully introduced themselves to him. He didn't even have the chance to reply to any of them before the next one forced his way through! Suddenly Harry felt as though he was walking through the Leaky Cauldron for the first time, all over again and he cursed his fame—even if such fame was for a different reason here.

However, there was also one glaringly obvious difference: There were a number of professors who hung back and eyed him warily. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end, instantly sensing their hostility, even though only one of them was outright scowling.

There was one professor, however, who didn't react at all to Harry's presence. That was mainly because he was sprawled out in one of the chairs, snoring loudly with his mouth wide open. A few of the other professors threw him disapproving glares, but surprisingly none of them did anything to bother him. Both amused and curious, Harry reached out with his magic and nudged the man's chair sharply.

The professor spluttered awake with a cough. "Whozatt?" he muttered while blinking sleepily. He reached up and pushed his messy, light blond hair out of his face as he yawned widely. The other professors' frowns deepened.

When the man's pale, almost silvery eyes landed on Harry however, his entire countenance changed. His eyes brightened and he jumped up from his chair as a large grin spread across his face.

"Ah, you're finally here!" he exclaimed. "Good, good, we can start the interview then!"

Without bother to wait for a reply, the man latched on to Harry arm and began to pull him towards the door at the other end of the room. Unlike with the other professors, Harry was thoroughly amused with this man, so he allowed himself to be dragged along. Christophe followed helplessly behind them.

"Er, Harry, this is the office that we'll be using for the interviews," Christophe quickly explained once they were inside.

"Yes sir!" the blond professor cheerfully agreed. Harry noticed that he looked relatively young. However, it seemed that within the Magical World people aged differently due to their longer lifespan, so he could have been three hundred for all Harry knew. "So, shall we start?"

They all took seats around the table in the middle of the room. The professor took a folder from Merlin knew where and began to lay papers out.

"This is the school's pamphlet," he said as he slid a brochure across the table towards Harry. "It's got all the statistics and crap. Essentially, you don't need to read it."

Harry picked it up and immediately quirked an eyebrow. "Silvermoor Academy of Magic?" he read, recalling his discussion about Merlin's school from not ten minutes before.

The professor blinked in confusion for a moment before grinning sheepishly. "Oh, right," he said apologetically. "I forgot about that: I'm Master Gaea Aetius from the Silvermoor Academy of Magic. Nice to meet you, Harry!" He thrust his hand out and then stared expectantly at Harry, all while still grinning widely.

"Er, it's nice to meet you too, sir," Harry said slowly as he shook the proffered limb. "So...Where is Silvermoor exactly?"

"On the Greenland Magical Reserve," Aetius answered proudly. "Best location in the world if you ask me!"

"...In Greenland? Isn't it all ice?"

"Well it's actually not all that cold in the summer months, but that's just in the muggle parts," Aetius said enthusiastically. "You see, most of Greenland has actually been turned into a magical reserve for various species of magical creatures and magical beasts. The entire island is covered in wards and enchantments of all types that regulate temperature and vegetation, allowing for numerous different types of habitats to coexist side by side. The muggles and wizards haven't noticed, even though some think that they've traveled straight through the middle of the country, because of the enchantments. Quite useful, really."

"Merlin himself helped to set up the Reserve, you know," Christophe interjected. "It's said to have been amongst his greatest works."

"And the school is right in the middle of all that?" Harry asked, admittedly impressed. "Sounds...interesting."

"Oh, you better believe that it is," Aetius readily agreed. He seemed to be completely sincere, not just trying to get Harry to like the school. "Some of the students there crack me up! Not to mention the teachers. There was this one time when Abigail had a cup of coffee and—"

Christophe coughed politely. "Master Aetius, if don't mind...?"

"Oh, right," Aetius said, not put out in the slightest. "_Anyway_, we offer a lot of interesting core classes on top of the normal ones. There's physics, chemistry, transfiguration, enchantment—which is what I teach—elemental manipulation, botany, soul magic, magical history, magical creatures, astronomy, magical literature, magical art, and beginner's healing. Of course, there's also a wide variety of other classes that you'll be able to take in a few years as an upperclassman, such as neuromagic and death magic."

Harry's eyebrows rose at the odd assortment of classes, which were both similar and dissimilar to Hogwarts' curriculum. He was admittedly surprised to hear of muggle courses such as physics and chemistry, but it made sense considering how their magic worked. It was all about how you were manipulating energy and knowing the laws of the universe made them infinitely easier to break.

"And we have a choice amongst these?" he asked.

Aetius nodded. "School technically starts on the Monday of the second week of August, but that first day is used for Zeta orientation, which is where you'll pick all your classes. Ah, and I should mention that our years are titled by Greek letters. 'First years', as you'd call them, are Zetas. Then there're Kappas, Sigmas, and Omegas," he explained. Then his face became completely serious for a moment. "Now then, before we talk anymore about Silvermoor, I'd first like to check your magic levels to see what kind of a potential you have. You may be a special circumstance, but Silvermoor is usually a very difficult school to get into. If your magic is just a fluke and you're hardly more powerful than the average wizard, then I'm afraid we won't be able to let you in, regardless of your name." Abruptly Aetius' grin was back in full force. "_But_, I like you, kid, so maybe I'll sneak you in anyway!"

Harry felt a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth; Aetius' mood was contagious. "Alright," he said with a nod. "What do I need to do?"

"Nothing at all!" the professor chirped. "There's a nifty spell that I can use to see how powerful you are magically; everyone's born with different sized magical channels, you know."

"...Huh?"

Aetius waved off his confusion. "Don't worry about it. You'll learn more about that in school," the older man said. "So, please just sit still and I'll start."

Unsure of what was going to happen, Harry sat frozen in his seat, waiting for the professor again. A moment later he hissed lowly when the sensation of a cold, wet blanket being dragged across his skin swept over him. He knew without having to look that he'd broken out with goosebumps.

"You okay?" Aetius asked.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Fine. The spell just feels cold."

Christophe and Aetius exchanged glances. "'Feels' cold, Harry?" Christophe said slowly. "You can 'feel' magic?"

The teen felt a cold ball settle in his stomach. "...Yeah?" he answered carefully. "Can't all magical beings?"

The two men exchanged glances again. Harry could easily read surprise in their gazes, as well as curiosity.

"Hell no!" was Aetius' excited reply. "But you can? That's awesome! I don't think I've ever heard of anything like that before. I wonder if it's a side effect of the Killing Curse...? Hmm, Eru might know. I'll have to tell him about this later. Anyway, considering everything that's happened here, not to mention your magic, I'd say that you're a great match for Silvermoor. You're definitely attending."

"Uh, thanks," Harry said uncertainly. "How do I let you know about my decision—?"

"It doesn't matter; you're going to attend Silvermoor no matter what."

Harry felt a bit of annoyance rise up within him. "Don't I have a say in it?" he growled.

"Well sure, but don't you _want_ to attend Silvermoor? Aren't you _curious_? Even just a little?"

Harry's eye twitched. But despite this, he couldn't help but admit that he was curious about the school. Aetius was far more interesting than any of the other professors waiting outside. Were all the other professors at Silvermoor like that?

As though reading his mind, Aetius' smile broadened. "Like I said, you'll end up attending Silvermoor one way or another. I'll be in touch."

Aetius gave him a pile of papers concerning the school before exiting the room in a whirlwind of excited energy. Harry didn't think he'd ever met anyone with so much enthusiasm before.

"He's an interesting one, isn't he?" Christophe chuckled after the professor had left. "Certainly one of the strangest vampires I've ever met. But...I suppose that appearances can be deceiving."

The rest of the interviews passed far more smoothly, though they were far less interesting. They also focused more on Harry himself and on whether the _school_ wanted him, not the other way around. A number for the professors seemed to look down on Harry—some bordering on outright hostile—which left him bewildered. When all was said and done, Harry's mind still lingered on Silvermoor more than any of the other school.

Perhaps Aetius had been right; perhaps he would end up attending Silvermoor. But he wanted to review his options thoroughly before he chose. He'd never had options like this when it'd come to Hogwarts.

* * *

It would be another week before Harry would finally find an apartment, ironically on July 31st, his birthday. Even though apparently a lot of magical beings lived in muggle areas because they could easily put up muggle-repelling wards, his home was in the magical sector of London. It was closer to everything, Harry thought, not to mention it was an entirely new, interesting world for him.

Before he could move into the apartment however, he needed to purchase it. And to do that he needed to go to Gringotts. He'd be eternally grateful that because of the goblins, the Magical World used the same form of money as the Wizarding World.

Christophe had told Harry where the branch of Gringotts was and then left Harry to his own devices, since the teen had said that he wanted to explore. And explore he did; Harry took an entire day to look around the magical sector of London. Plus, he needed to go out and buy...well, everything. He'd lost all of his clothes, books, etc. when the Dursleys' house had been destroyed.

To Harry's horror, that also meant that he didn't know what had happened to Hedwig. She'd been in her cage up in his room when Akeldama attacked. He'd been told that the Dursleys' house and everything in it had been lost, which immediately made him think the worst. There was no proof that she had, Merlin-forbid it, _died_, but neither was there any proof that she'd somehow managed to escape. For now Harry just clung to the hope that she'd gotten out but was too injured to find him.

It wasn't a very happy thought.

"Good afternoon." The goblin's craggy voice shook Harry from his reverie. Blinking in surprise, the young man focused on the counter before him; it seemed that while he'd been lost in thought, the line had dwindled down until there was only him left, standing before an impatient teller.

"Er, yes, good afternoon," Harry coughed awkwardly as he stepped up to the counter. "I'd like to make a withdrawal."

"Key?"

Harry hesitated. "Umm... My key was lost in a house fire and...And my account is in London's wizarding branch."

The goblin gave him a look that was two parts disbelieving and measuring. After an uncomfortable pause, he turned to the computer next to him—something Harry _still_ couldn't get used to—and demanded, "Name?"

"...Harry Potter."

To his relief, the goblin didn't even glance up. He simply tapped the glowing screen, waited for a second, and then tapped a few more times. Harry nearly jumped when the keyboard- and mouse-less computer suddenly began to hum. A moment later a stack of papers appeared in a basket on the desk, preceded only by a faint glow. Completely nonplussed, the goblin picked them up and dropped them on the counter before Harry.

"These are the forms for an account transfer and reactivation," he said, sounding for all the world as though he was bored out o his mind. "Fill them out and bring them back here and we'll begin the process. Next!"

Surprised by how easy the transfer seemed to be, Harry slowly picked up the forms and walked over to one of the numerous chairs dotting the lobby. Just fill out the forms? That was something he could do.

* * *

"Ah, there you are, Harry." Christophe stood as Harry peeked through the doorway of his office. "I was starting to wonder whether or not you'd be coming. I hope you didn't have any trouble finding the office? Please, come in and have a seat."

"Er, thanks. Sorry about the time," Harry said sheepishly. "I was at Gringotts for longer than I expected. Everything's done though; my new account is set up and the flat has been paid for."

"Good, good," the older man replied with a smile. "Hmm, we really need to get you an ETC sometime..." Christophe completely missed the uncomprehending expression on Harry's face. "No matter, that's a subject for another day. I know it's late, but would you like to head over to the apartment right now? I expect that you're not too keen on staying in a hotel for another night. I can help you transfigure some temporary furniture if you like; the ones we ordered for you won't arrive until Thursday evening."

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thank you for everything, Christophe," he said sincerely. "You've helped to make this whole transition much easier."

"Well, it's my job." Christophe spread his arms wide in a helpless gesture. "Though admittedly, I've never had a case quite like this one before."

* * *

A/N: Long wait since the last one. Sorry about that; I've been busy with a number of different things recently. And you can also blame my boyfriend for distracting me. However, I've been doing a lot more writing since NaNoWriMo is this month. Chapters 4 and 5 are already complete and 6 is half done, so you'll see those a lot quicker.

Also, in regards to computers, I'm basing the magical ones off the idea that Muggles invented them first. This is mainly because even though magical beings are generally far more advanced than Muggles overall, they're also such an old species that lives for so long that they also get set in their ways, making it difficult for them to "think outside the box" frequently. A revolutionary idea like computers is something that I could more easily see Muggles coming up with, especially since magical beings would have had no immediate need for them, thanks to their magic.

Thanks for your reviews for the last chapter!

--S.R.


	4. Chapter 4: Yesterday to Tomorrow

Title: Atra Regnum  
Author: Shadow Rebirth  
Beta Readers: solunvar, Teufel1987  
Rating: T/PG-13  
Warnings: Death, blood and gore, language, spoilers  
Chapter WC: 5,090  
Story WC: 18,638  
First Written: August 24, 2009  
Last Edited: November 24, 2009  
Posted: November 24, 2009  
Summary: Harry has a dark secret: He isn't a wizard. But that certainly doesn't mean he can't do magic. It was too bad it also meant that in the face of fanatical governments and enraged demigods, Voldemort was going to be the least of his problems. [AU, no pairings.]

* * *

Atra Regnum

Chapter 4_  
Yesterday to Tomorrow_

* * *

A sharp clinking sound forced its way into Harry's ears. The young man groaned and attempted to bury his head under his pillow, but still the noise persisted. With a huff, Harry blearily sat up in bed. A shiver ran across his skin as he threw the covers off and instantaneously cast a heating charm to warm back up.

As the last vestiges of sleep released Harry from their grip, he was met with a sight he hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity: There was an owl sitting outside, tapping on the window with its beak. A thrill ran through Harry at the sight of its white plumage, but reality soon snapped back into perspective as he recognized that it wasn't Hedwig.

Shoulder unconsciously slumping, Harry swung his legs over the edge of the bed and opened the window with a flicker of magic, allowing the owl entrance. The owl immediately settled onto Harry's shoulder, sharp talons biting into his bare skin. It stretched out its leg and dutifully waited for the letter there to be untied.

As Harry pulled it loose, he noticed that the handwriting on the front was Christophe's. The use of owls for mail was one of the few things that remained the same between the Magical and Wizarding Worlds. Admittedly, magical beings also had a number of other, faster forms of communication, but owls were still used quite frequently. It was reassuring for Harry to see something that had become such an integrated part of his life to remain the same, even while the rest was tossed into chaos.

Another quick flick of his magic tore open the envelope. To his surprise, a letter as well as a second envelope fell into his hands. The second envelope turned out to be from Silvermoor. Harry smiled slightly as he set it aside; he knew without having to check that it was an acceptance letter; it had already been a week since he'd decided to apply and two weeks since he'd met Aetius, the school's representative.

_Harry_, the letter from Christophe read, _This letter was sent from Silvermoor Academy of Magic to my office, as I'm your representative at the moment, so I'm forwarding it to you. It's an acceptance letter and as such will include information about the Academy and a list of required items. I suggest you read thorough it carefully. As for the items, all of them can be found in Myrddin, Greenland's magical sector. I have some free time this afternoon, after one o'clock. If you'd like we can head over there and I'll show you around._

_Best Regards,_

_Christophe __Grosvenor_

Harry absently bent one of the corners of the paper as he read it over. As soon as he'd finished, he pulled out a pen and swiftly wrote an affirmative reply on the back. After all, he didn't have anything else to do. He'd mostly spent the past few weeks exploring Londinium, the magical sector of London.

The rest of the day before Harry's meeting passed quite normally, much as his days for the past few weeks had. He did, however, stop by Gringotts to make a withdrawal. Personally, Harry thought it would be easier to use some form of automatic withdrawal like Muggles did, but when he asked one of the tellers about it they said that magic made it too easy to steal identities. So Gringotts, true to its reputation as the safest place on earth, was keeping things old-fashioned.

By a quarter to one, Harry finally managed to pull away and direct himself to Christophe's office in the some government building—the exact name he didn't know. The moment he stepped through the door however, he was surprised to find Christophe in a flurry of motion, dashing about the room and collecting various papers.

"Hello there Harry!" Christophe called as he dashed past the open doorway. "Sorry about this, but I received a call about an emergency meeting, so I won't be able to go with you to Myrddin. However—" He shoved a number of papers into a folder and then tapped it, causing it to disappear. Exhaling sharply, Christophe finally turned his full attention onto Harry. "However, I can still take you there and show you how transport disks work. You'll just have to do your shopping on your own."

"Er, that's fine, I guess."

"Great! You have your school list with you, right? Then let's head out!"

"To where?" Harry questioned as he followed Christophe out of the office. "You've mentioned these 'transport disks' a few times now. Aren't we Apparating?"

"I'll show you when we get to Gringotts," the Frenchman replied with a wave of his hand. "And no, we're definitely not Apparating. Apparation is far better suited to short distance travel since it requires a lot of energy. If you don't have enough energy or concentration then you are likely to wind up appearing a thousand feet above an ocean or in the _middle_ of a mountain."

Harry gave a half shrug in reply, having already heard something similar from the Wizarding World. It seemed that some of the basic rules of energy stayed the same across worlds.

Christophe did, however, agree that Apparating to Gringotts would be the fastest. He said as much as he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, preparing for side-along Apparation.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Harry replied. "I've been to the Londinium branch before, so I'll be able to Apparate there myself.

Christophe gave him a long, measuring glance. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but failed to hide his curiosity. "I thought wizards didn't learn Apparation until their last few years of schooling?"

The young man frowned at the question. "Well yeah," he agreed. "But I'm not a wizard, I'm a mage. I figured out how to Apparate when I was a kid."

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Christophe commented dryly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I assume that this has something to do with how you 'feel' magic then. How long have you been, ah, 'practicing' magic for?"

"For...about as long as I can remember," Harry answered warily. "Why?"

"Hmm," was the only reply he received. Christophe stared around the hallway they were still standing in without really seeing it. "I must say that your capabilities are...odd," he finally said. "Frankly, what you're saying should be impossible because your magic should have been too turbulent as it developed. There's a reason magical schooling only starts at the age of sixteen you know. But...Well, the healers didn't find anything wrong while we were at the hospital, so I assume that your magic developed correctly." He shook his head in bewilderment. "We might have a healer look at you more closely sometime to see if there were any ill effects."

Harry shifted from foot to foot silently, uncomfortable with the idea of going back to a hospital, magical or not. He looked away from Christophe, not deigning to answer.

Christophe clapped his hands abruptly, causing Harry to jump, but also successfully dispelling the tenseness that had fallen over them. "Well, let's get going, shall we? I've got to be in Constanţa, Romania in half an hour."

As Harry nodded his assent, they simultaneously Apparated to the lobby of the Magical World's Gringotts branch in London.

"This way," Christophe said. Without hesitating he began to lead Harry down a wide marble hallway. After a brief minute it opened up into a tall domed chamber that left Harry gaping. It really was massive—the length of a Quidditch pitch, he thought, and nearly half as tall again.

The floor was made out of the same glossy, deep blue stone as the walls—though unlike the floor, the walls were also covered with intricate patterns. Harry couldn't even begin to discern their meaning, but all the same he could sense a great purpose from them, like a mystery just waiting to be revealed. The dome above was made out of an opaque glass that let the sun shine in without detracting attention from its own simple, linear designs.

All of this beauty paled, however, in comparison to what drew Harry's eye to the centre of the room: Most of the floor was taken up by a giant world map made out of a strange stone—or perhaps metal; it had a texture that Harry didn't recognize. Regardless, it was obviously enchanted because the colouring changed across it to reflect the landscape of the region. It was beautifully detailed, especially because of its size; it took up most of the chamber.

There were a number of strange black disks, about three feet in diameter and four inches in height, scattered across the map. A cursory glance told Harry that these disks were placed in the locations of the world's major cities, at least one for each country and several for the larger ones. This idea was further proven by the glowing letters naming the cities that hung in the air about ten feet above the disks.

Of course, one could not forget about the numerous magical beings covering the floor, heading to and from the various disk and Apparating in and out of the room. As Harry watched, a woman with dark red hair and pointed ears—a flame elf, he assumed—stepped onto one of the disks and then disappeared in a brief flash of bluish-white light.

"This," Christophe said with an overly dramatic sweeping gesture, "Is a Transport Hall. From here you can access nearly any location in the world using the transport disks that I mentioned earlier. Transport disks, if you want a specific definition, are goblin owned technology—hence why they're only found in Gringotts—that was first invented two thousand years ago in order to solve some issues with portkeys which, at that time, were some very finicky pieces of magic. They work simply by stepping onto the platform. You are then instantly transported to the corresponding disk in the city you selected."

"So you can instantly travel anywhere in the world," Harry said, awed. "That makes travel so much easier!"

"Mhm," Christophe agreed. "Come, we don't have much time and I'd like to give you at least a brief overview of Myrddin before I leave."

The older mage led Harry across the shifting map, straight towards a transport disk that was located where Nuuk, the capital of Greenland, should have been, though it was labelled Myrddin instead. Though now that he really looked, Harry noticed that most of the transport disks were labelled differently than they should have been. London, for example, was Londinium, which meant that they must all be the magical sectors.

Harry paused to stare down at his feet when they first stepped onto the blue "ocean" part of the map, instantly noticing how the stone's colours appeared to shift under his feet. It was extremely disorientating; it made it appear as though he was "walking" on water, even though his feet were clearly resting solidly on the floor.

Harry gulped once and then raised his head to stare at Christophe's back as he took another step. It helped immensely not to look at what he was walking on, so he kept his gaze glued to the folds of Christophe's jacket for the rest of the walk. Only once they were standing on Greenland did he sigh and then finally look at the transport disk.

"Up you go," Christophe said cheerfully, completely oblivious to the minor war raging in Harry's nauseous—or would this be considered seasick?—stomach. "Just stand on the disk and it'll take you straight to Myrddin. I'll follow right after you."

Taking a deep breath to calm his suddenly jumpy nerves, Harry stepped onto the disk. For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then soft whooshing sounds filled his ears and the world around him became nothing but a glowing bluish-white light.

Harry had experienced many different types of magical travel before: Apparation, Portkey, Floo Powder ... None of those were quite like a transport disk. Apparation felt like being squeezed through a small tube, Portkeys felt like being picked up with a hook and whirled around, and Floo Powder felt like some sort of wild magical roller coaster ride. With transport disks, however, he simply experienced a brief sensation of freefall. A moment later the glow faded to reveal a Transport Hall much like the one he'd first been in, though this one was in fact much busier.

After a moment of staring, Harry realized that he was still standing on the transport disk and quickly stepped down. Not a moment later a bright bluish-white pillar of light lit up around the transport disk. When it faded away, it left Christophe standing in the centre. The Frenchman smiled at Harry before motioning towards the large stone arch that led into a hallway—and presumably back into the lobby.

"So..." Harry said to break the silence. "Myrddin. Seems like kind of an odd name for a city. Is it Latin?"

"Welsh, actually. The sector was named after Merlin, its founder," Christophe answered absently. "He actually originally built Myrddin as a small village for visitors and workers of the Greenland Magical Preserve. It was only later in his life that Silvermoor Academy was built. As it were, the school was opened a month before his...death, so he technically never got a chance to teach there, nor serve as its High Master."

Christophe's explanation died out as they stepped through the front doors of the bank and Harry got his first glimpse of Myrddin. Or maybe it was just Harry's attention that died; he wasn't sure.

The buildings that lined the street were made of a strange silvery material that looked as though it was a mix between stone and metal; certainly unlike anything Harry had seen before. The architecture, too, was completely foreign to him. He'd half expected the same Roman style that Londinium had, but instead it was all very...smooth, with rounded angles and geometric shapes. The buildings were pressed tightly against each other with only a few narrow alleys between them. The roads were paved with a dark stone and occasionally landscaped with lush trees and bushes.

"And this, unfortunately, is where I leave you," Christophe suddenly announced as he glanced at his pocket watch. "The design of Myrddin is pretty simple; the sector is circular in shape with four gates; one in each direction leading into the Muggle city. There are two main roads that run between these gates, like axes on a wheel, and numerous other smaller roads that cover the rest of Myrddin, taking you wherever you need to go. This—" he said while struggling to take out what looked like a folded pamphlet, "Is a map of Myrddin. I've marked down all the important locations, including this bank and the major stores for school supplies. At the moment we're right _here_, on the North Road."

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely as he took the map. "That'll be a big help."

"Of course, of course. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back before I'm late. Good luck and just talk to the goblins if you need any assistance."

Harry stood in place for several minutes after Christophe had left, taking in the sights. When he did finally set off down the street, he spent over half an hour just walking around, getting his bearings straight and exploring the small city. Eventually Harry remembered why he was there in the first place and finally opened up the map he'd been given. It turned out that one of the marked stores was right nearby, so he made a sharp turn down a nearby street and proceeded to thread his way through the crowds until he finally reached a large bookstore with a hanging sign out front proclaiming _Byrnmor & Neirin_.

The store, Harry found, had a tall ceiling with inset skylights, naturally lighting it. It was lined with rows and rows of shelves. At the moment the store was filled with people browsing the shelves. Most, Harry noticed, were families, though there were also a number of people that he assumed to be older students.

Taking out his list of required books as a reference, Harry tried to navigate through the store. He'd scarcely been there for a minute however when the hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end. The young mage stiffened as the sensation of being watched began to flood the rest of his body. Trying to force himself to relax, Harry picked up the nearest book and flipped it open, pretending to glance through it while discreetly looking around for his watcher.

Everyone seemed to be preoccupied. The group to his left was arguing animatedly and the woman in the row in front of him was engrossed in a book. As far as Harry could tell, no one was watching him. But still the sensation didn't go away. Once again Harry tried to relax, trying to tell himself that he was just being paranoid.

He didn't believe it for a second.

After a moment, Harry snapped the book shut and placed it back on the shelf. He turned on his heel and strode down the aisle, pretending to be intent on another section when he was in fact keeping an eye out for anyone shadowing his movements. Only a moment later he saw exactly what he'd been expecting: Another figure a few rows down began to move in the same direction at an abnormally quick pace.

Noting a tall display up ahead, Harry quickened his stride until he reached it, then made a sharp turn and stopped behind it. He waited, tense, for his stalker to notice his sudden disappearance. Unfortunately, patience had never been one of his strong suits. A moment later he called up his magic to wrap around him and reflect back the world around him, effectively mimicking an invisibility cloak. This was a little trick he'd learned years ago, not long into his second year. Admittedly, it didn't work quite as well as the cloak itself, but for a situation like this it was just fine.

It didn't take Harry long to find the person who'd been tailing him. Surprisingly, it turned out to be a guy his age with long dark hair that was pulled back into a braid and high, aristocratic cheekbones. He was hovering near the edge of an aisle, scanning the shop with darting eyes and a dark frown.

Seeing him standing there like that, completely oblivious to Harry standing five feet away was a temptation that Harry just couldn't resist: He quietly slipped around behind the guy, removed the magic around him, and then tapped him on the shoulder.

The young man instantly jumped in surprise and spun around quickly, stumbling as he did so. He immediately tensed at the sight of Harry standing behind him with a raised eyebrow, looking like a deer in headlights, to borrow a Muggle expression.

"Can I help you?" Harry asked with a faux polite smile.

"Ah, yes, actually," was the reply he was given. Harry curiously noted that he had a slight Italian accent. His speech was so formal however that it was barely noticeable. "Harry Potter?"

Harry eyed him warily. "Yes...?"

The other teen dipped in a short, formal bow. "Damion Noctis, of the Noctis clan. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Harry quirked an eyebrow again. "That doesn't explain why you were stalking me," he said dryly.

Damion flushed red, embarrassed. "T-that is...I—" He cut himself off with a deep gulp and quickly regained his composure. "I was simply debating the best way to approach you—"

"By stalking me?"

"I wasn't stalking you!" he snapped. Then he immediately flushed again, looking horrified. "I—forgive me. I fear I may have come across as rather brusque. The truth is—" He sighed deeply and glanced away. "Er, my father wanted me to meet you."

Harry blinked owlishly, caught by surprise. Out of all the answers he'd been expecting, that wasn't one of them. Fortunately however, it was better than most of the ones he'd rather pessimistically imagined.

"Uhh..." the young mage hesitated, unsure how to respond to that, "Well...thank you?"

An awkward silence passed between them for another moment. Then Damion held his hand out. "Damion Noctis. I am a Zeta at Silvermoor," he said.

Harry grasped the proffered limb and shook it firmly. "Me as well, though I assume you already knew that," he chuckled. Despite his good humour however, he was still eyeing Damion warily. There was no way he was going to trust this guy anytime soon.

Taking a moment to really look at Damion, Harry suddenly realized that he could tell which race he was. Elf and fayerie were obviously immediately out. He didn't have amber eyes either, nor sharp canines for that matter, so werewolf was also unlikely. That left just mage and vampire, and while Damion had rather pale skin, Harry did too so that wasn't a real indicator.

"Are you a mage?" Harry asked curiously, with all his Gryffindor tact.

Damion's eyebrows leapt to his hairline at the bluntness, but a chuckle soon slipped between his lips. "No, I am a vampire, actually. Of the Noctis clan."

In that moment, Harry realized just how little he knew of politics in the magical world. Damion had mentioned the Noctis clan several times now and in much the same tone as Malfoy would use to say his own name—like it was important. Harry, with no idea of what a "clan" was or what it meant was left staring blankly at him.

Damion quickly caught onto Harry's lack of reaction. And while he seemed to be at a loss for a moment, as though he'd never before encountered someone who didn't recognize the name, his expression quickly returned to a mask of politeness.

"You do not know much about the magical world, do you?"

Harry did his best to not act offended. "I'm still learning," he said stiffly. "I was only made aware of the existence of the magical world a few months ago."

"Of course," Damion smoothly agreed with a charming smile. "Well then, please allow me to give you some assistance in that area. Vampires have long been organized into clans—old families. I am quite proud to say that the Noctis clan's lineage can be traced back to the days of the Second Imperium War. We are one of the oldest clans, as it were."

He certainly sounded proud, Harry thought amusedly. "That's interesting," Harry said vaguely. He didn't even know what the Imperium Wars were however, so Damion's statement was lost on him.

As the conversation descended into an awkward silence once again, they were thankfully interrupted by a loud bang from somewhere ahead of them. Both Harry and Damion turned around curiously and found that a tall, browned haired teenager had knocked over a display case, causing books to spill out over the floor. The guy was apologizing repeatedly to a store assistant, who was already using magic to put the books back their places, while looking absolutely mortified.

When the worker began to shoo the guy away, he quickly turned and fled. Unfortunately, in his haste he wound up tripping and skidded into the shelf right next to Harry and Damion, knocking into them. It was only Harry's quick reflexes with magic that stopped them all from crashing into the floor and instead froze them in place for a brief moment.

"Whoa!" the messy haired guy exclaimed when he could move again. "That was fucking awesome! Was that elemental manipulation? Or enchantment? I'm just a Zeta—haven't really started learning about magic yet. If it was transfiguration I would have recognized it though! I'm really good at transfiguration. What year are you? I'm just a Zeta. Looking forward to school though—Ha! Never thought I'd say that!—should be interesting."

At first Harry could only stare as the other began to ramble on without giving either of them a word edgewise. When the guy finally finished he turned his expectant amber eyes onto them and began to wait patiently for a reply. It was such a startling contrast to his actions only a few seconds before that it left Harry at a loss for words.

Damion recovered his composure much faster and gave the strange guy a polite, if rather stiff nod. "We are both Zetas as well," he replied. "And we are both unharmed; thank you ever so much for your enquiry."

A blank stare was the reply he received. "Huh?"

Harry repressed a smile at the exchange. The two guys were like complete opposites—one with impeccable hair and clothes and the other looking as though he'd just rolled out of bed and thrown on whatever was within reach.

"I'm Harry, by the way, and this is Damion," Harry cut in before an argument could rise up.

The tall teen was immediately distracted. He turned to Harry with a beaming smile and replied, "I'm Ryan! You're really a Zeta? What magic was that then? Ooh, did you get to experiment a lot at home? My parents kept telling me to stop, that it was 'unsafe'." He scoffed, showing exactly what he thought of that sentiment.

"Er, yeah, I had...a lot of time to practice," Harry said. He paused for a moment then asked curiously, "Is it really that uncommon for magical beings to be able to use magic at an early age?"

While Ryan laughed, Damion gave him an unreadable stare that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand on end again. "It depends on what you mean by 'early age'," the vampire finally said. "Early for magical beings is fourteen or fifteen. But...you mean earlier than that, don't you?"

Harry clenched his jaw, uncomfortable with the knowledgeable tone in Damion's voice. "Yeah," he agreed stiffly. "I mean earlier than that."

Ryan glanced between the two of them, looking bewildered. "Did I miss something?" he asked, confused. "Cause I feel like I'm on a different page than the two of you..." He froze suddenly and before anyone had a chance to give him an answer, began to swear. "Shit! I gotta get going; my dad's going to kill me!" He waved even as he began to dash down another aisle. "See ya at school then!"

Once Ryan had left, Damion sniffed loudly. "How...distasteful," he said. "But I suppose you can't blame him—he was a werewolf; it's in their blood."

Harry stayed silent, deigning not to reply to a comment like that. Damion seemed to sense the change in mood quickly tried to backpedal.

"Not that that's bad thing," he said quickly. "It's just a proven fact that certain races have a genetic disposition to particular personalities. Werewolves are—" He faltered, flushing again, and then decided to swiftly change the topic instead. "Ah, I should get going. I still have a number of other places to visit before I head home.

Harry gave him a polite nod and they said their farewells and then they went their separate ways. As Harry went back to browsing the books, he tried to dismiss the incident from mind. However, he couldn't help but worry that it would be precursor for the rest of his life in the magical world. How many other people wanted to meet him—and for what reasons? Christophe had mentioned that a lot of Death Masters had wanted to find out more about him. What would they do now that he was in _their_ world?

* * *

Christophe repressed an annoyed frown as he stared at the receptionist before him. "Look," he said through gritted teeth. "It's really not that difficult. You just have to tell him that I'm here—"

"I'm sorry, sir," the woman said in that same, bland tone. "But Lord Noctis is in a meeting at the moment. He should be out in half an hour."

"I'm supposed to be _in_ that meeting! I'm Christophe Grosvenor. Don't you have some sort of list or something?"

The receptionist gave him a blank look and then pointedly turned back to what she'd been doing. Christophe groaned aloud and had just opened his mouth to sharply retort when the door on the side of the room suddenly opened and a lean man with dark features stepped in, straightening the edge of his expensive suit as he did so.

"Ah, Grosvenor, there you are," he said. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming at all."

"Sorry about that, Lord Noctis," Christophe replied as he quickly put up a polite smile. "I was held up by the waiting queue at the Transport Hall in Myrddin..."

Something in the man's gaze sharpened at those words. "Ah, yes," he said softly. Then he closed the door behind him and strode toward the opposite door that led back into the hall. "Take a walk with me, Christophe?"

Christophe blinked in surprise at the sudden familiarity. He hesitated for a moment, but soon remembered just who he was talking to and caught up with him in a few quick strides. "Ah, of course, Lord Noctis."

"Ambrosios is just fine," he said pleasantly. "We have been acquaintances for quite a while now, have we not, Christophe?"

"Er, yes, several years, sir."

"So, you mentioned that you were in Myrddin? Perhaps you saw my son there; he went with his uncle to purchase his schoolbooks. He will be starting at Silvermoor this year you know."

"No, I'm afraid that I was just there for a brief moment to drop off a student I have been working with. Pass along my congratulations to him though," Christophe said with a smile.

"A student you've been working with? Might I assume you mean Harry Potter?"

Christophe's steps faltered briefly. He really shouldn't have been surprised though; Ambrosios Noctis knew of everything that went on in the world, both muggle and magical. He was, after all, the head of one of the leading political factions in the Magical World. It was his business to know.

"Yes, actually," the younger man answered. "He's a rather interesting young man; you'd probably get along with him."

"Would I now?" was the soft reply. Christophe glanced over at Ambrosios and was surprised to find him smiling slightly. "Hmm, I think I just might."

* * *

A/N: It was only after writing this chapter that I realized that I'd shortened Myrddin's Circle (from SoG) to Myrddin. However, I actually like Myrddin better, so I've decided to keep it that way. Other than that, not much to say about this chapter. The next chapter will include Silvermoor though, so this is the end of the introduction, for the most part.

Thanks for you all your reviews for the last chapter!

--S.R.


	5. Chapter 5: Plastic Man

Title: Atra Regnum  
Author: Shadow Rebirth  
Beta Readers: solunvar, Teufel1987  
Rating: T/PG-13  
Warnings: Death, blood and gore, language, spoilers  
Chapter WC: 5,189  
Story WC: 23,872  
First Written: November 2, 2009  
Last Edited: December 29, 2009  
Posted: December 29, 2009  
Summary: Harry has a dark secret: He isn't a wizard. But that certainly doesn't mean he can't do magic. It was too bad it also meant that in the face of fanatical governments and enraged demigods, Voldemort was going to be the least of his problems. [AU, no pairings.]

* * *

Atra Regnum

Chapter 5_  
Plastic Man_

* * *

Harry had known that Silvermoor Academy of Magic was an old school—older even than Hogwarts. He'd known that it had been founded by Merlin. He'd known that it was considered to be one of the most prestigious magical schools. Despite knowing these facts however, he hadn't quite expected...This.

Silvermoor Academy of Magic stood out from its surroundings. That was a given, considering how it was nestled into a valley, surrounded by a lush forest. The Academy was made up of a number of large buildings, all made of a strange silvery stone that gleamed in the sunlight. They seemed almost like pinpricks of light from the distance Harry was standing, at the entrance to the valley. It was here that a series of transport disks were placed, located specifically for access to the school, and here that students were taken from Myrddin for their first sight of Silvermoor.

And it was nothing short of impressive.

At the entrance to the valley two massive stone statues stood next to two thick pillars. And by massive, Harry meant that he had to crane his neck back just to look up at them; at least eight stories high by his estimates. The statues were of horses, each one decked out in elaborate metal armor and with stone chains running from their bridles to the tall stone pillars that were placed outside the two statues. The detail put into them was incredible; Harry half expected them to jump to life at any moment.

The transport disks were located in a stone courtyard that could easily fit a few hundred people. The courtyard opened up into a wide paved path leading through the massive guardian statues and into the valley.

Harry took all this in with a wide-eyed stare. The scenery itself radiated an ancient feeling, as though it had stood there for dozens of centuries—which it had. With the statues and the school and _everything_, it was simply magnificent. And Harry wasn't the only one to feel this way from the similar expressions of awe on the faces of the teenagers around him.

They'd all been taken there from a set of transport disks in the square of Myrddin. In accordance to the instructions written on his acceptance letter, Harry had arrived there half an hour ago with a trunk—now shrunken and securely placed in his pocket—of his things from Londinium. Several professors had been organizing the large number of students already there, instructing them to go onto the transport disks one by one. Harry had joined the flow of students and soon found himself here, flabbergasted by his first sight of Silvermoor.

In a way, it was like Hogwarts all over again.

"Welcome everyone to Silvermoor Academy!" a voice boomed from the edge of the crowd. As one, all the students turned to look.

Several older men and women—professors Harry could only assume—stood at the edges of the courtyard, watching over the group. The one who had spoken was, to Harry's surprise, none other than Gaea Aetius, the exuberant vampire who'd first sparked his interest in the school. Aetius was grinning broadly at them all while simultaneously waving a hand at the scenery with a sweeping gesture.

"What you see before you is known Talfryn Valley. Which, by the way, is an awesomely ironic name. Talfryn, you see, means 'high hill' in Welsh and this is a valley—" A woman near Aetius coughed loudly. "Er, right, sorry; that's off topic. Anyway, these two magnificent beasts are the Silver Steeds, guardians of Silvermoor Academy. It's said that Merlin himself transfigured them from stone in the surrounding hills. May they stand as a testament to you all for just what transfiguration can accomplish!" Again the woman coughed, a little more loudly than before. "Uh, of course the other branches of magic are great too. _Anyway_, these transport disks are set up here because there are powerful wards around Talfryn Valley that prevent any sort of long distance forms of transportation in or out. Magical transportation still works inside the valley itself; it's just restricted. When you learn to Apparate in your second year you'll still be able to Apparate to the edge of the valley then just walk to the transport disks.

"For you guys, however, you're first going to have to make the trek down to the school on foot. As you may have noticed, you're all Zetas, just entering school; the rest of the students will be arriving tomorrow, on the first official day of school. Today is just Zeta Orientation and tomorrow classes will start. And before I start rambling any more, as Master Brenton keeps reminding me not to do, we should get going. 'Screw your courage to the sticking-place' and follow along!"

As all the students stared, Aetius thrust his fist into the air and began to stride down the road towards Silvermoor. As the other professors joined him, the rest of the crowd slowly began to follow as well. Harry barely had a chance to take a step forward when suddenly an arm was slung around his slowly, pulling him to the side.

"Hey there!" the person exclaimed loudly. It took Harry a moment to realize that it was Ryan, the werewolf from the bookstore two weeks ago. "You're the magic dude! From the place that one time! Remember me? I'm Ryan Henderson. Er...What was your name again? Sorry, I'm horrible with names." Ryan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he partially turned to face Harry.

The dark haired mage winced slightly at the question. The other day he'd managed to avoid mentioning his full name. Unfortunately, this time he wasn't given that option. After a moment's hesitation, he decided to just bite the bullet.

"...Harry Potter. Nice to you meet again."

Ryan smiled brightly and agreed. There was no recognition his face, no quick glance at Harry's forehead. Nothing but a friendly smile. Instant relief washed through Harry. Ryan didn't recognize his name. He had no idea who he was. It seemed shocking to Harry, which showed just how long it'd been since he'd met someone who didn't know him as Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. And for once, Harry was able to return Ryan's smile genuinely.

"So you're from England?" Ryan asked curiously. "You've got a pretty thick accent there."

"Ah, yeah," Harry agreed. "I've lived in England my whole life. What about you? You're...American, right?"

"Mhm," Ryan cheerfully agreed. "Californian born and raised! Though I've also spent a lot of time with my Aunt and Uncle in Washington. I've got three younger sisters, you see. It's nice to get away sometimes and when family is only a portkey away...Well, what can you do?" He laughed again. "Of course, my dad and my uncle don't really get along, so that was a bit of a problem. They were both alphas, you see. They'd butt heads every time they met. Admittedly I had issues with both of them as well, being an alpha myself, but it was never that pronounced. Thankfully none of my sisters are alphas; _that _would be a disaster. Three of us in the family being alphas is rare enough though, so it's not that surprising."

Harry nodded along, despite the fact that he knew nothing about "alphas". He made a mental note to look it up later and figure out what it meant.

As they continued the long walk down to the school, Ryan continued to chat animatedly. Harry only had to add in a few replies here and there and nod a couple of times while Ryan rambled on. Harry actually found it nice to not have to talk much, for the other person to not be constantly looking for his reply and opinion. He'd always been a quiet child; it was only at Hogwarts that his leadership qualities had been brought out.

"So then, then I went up to the girl and said, 'My friend says that you—' Oh hey look, awesome gates."

Harry blinked in surprise at the sudden topic change and turned to look at where Ryan was pointing. Surprisingly, while he'd been focused on Ryan's story they'd arrived in front of the school. The material it was made out of looked much stranger up close; like some sort of weird mix between stone and metal. The building directly in front of them was tall—at least five stories from Harry's estimate—but it had only a smooth surface, with no windows or even ledges.

Directly in front of them was a large, solid metal gate. It alone was covered in intricate designs, with what looked like magical beasts chasing each other across the surface. And Harry meant that literally—much like the paintings in Hogwarts, the metalwork carvings on the gate moved as though they were alive. Even as he watched a large dragon blew a billow of fire towards a phoenix which in turn flew to the top of the gate.

As Harry eyed the gates appreciatively, Aetius pulled them open with a wave of his hand. Harry immediately shivered, sensing the powerful magic that reacted to the vampire's own as the gates opened for them. It was a rather itchy sensation, one that sent goosebumps racing down his skin while simultaneously making _him_ want to run in the opposite direction. Harry fought tooth and nail against his instincts to force himself to stay; him mind knew perfectly well that he was in no danger.

"Powerful wards," Harry whispered softly.

Ryan shot him a confused look. "Huh? Wards?"

Harry shook his head wordlessly. "Nothing," he replied. He remembered perfectly well that he was apparently the only one capable of sensing magic. "Just thinking aloud."

The young werewolf shrugged indifferently and turned his attention back to the school. The gates by now had already been opened and the students were being ushered into the building.

Aetius led them down a wide hallway whose walls were decorated similarly to the gates. This time humans had been added to the mix though—most notably, magic wielding humans. Only the floor, which was made out of dark green tiles, was solid in pattern and color.

Finally Aetius stopped next to a tall arch that led into a massive room. Even before stepping inside, Harry could tell that it was a dining hall; the numerous tables inside gave that away. They weren't long table like at Hogwarts though. Rather, there were numerous circular tables. There also were thin black books placed in front of each seat. From this distance, Harry hadn't the slightest clue what they were.

"Whoa," Ryan breathed next to him. "This is _sweet_."

Harry hummed in noncommittal agreement. Maybe he was just too used to Hogwarts, but it felt...strange...to him. He missed the floating candles and see-through ceiling of the Great Hall. He missed the time-worn wooden tables and the delicious smell that had permeated the Hall. This place seemed so...sterile in comparison.

They were all seated while the professors stood at the front of the room. There were several new professors as well, Harry saw. The most notable was a tall, languid woman with long pale hair, black eyes, and pointed ears. An ice elf, Harry assumed. According to what he'd been told, they usually had black eyes and light hair.

When the woman opened her mouth, her voice was soft, but somehow managed to effortlessly reach every corner of her room. All the students stilled at the sound, their attention instantly drawn to her overpowering presence.

"Welcome," she said, "To Silvermoor Academy of Magic. I am Silvia Mikhailova, the High Master. Today marks the first day of your magical education. Be proud, for you are the descendants of ancient powers. Be wary however, for magic is a double-edged blade which hurts its users as easily as it helps them. You are here to learn how to control that magic and to learn to use it to benefit our society. You will act responsibly in these halls—magic is too serious a business for us to give you any slack. It takes but a single transgression to warrant expulsion."

A solemn air had settled over the gathered Zetas as Mikhailova spoke. Harry himself felt a ball of anxiety tight in the pit of his stomach. Hogwarts had never offered dire warnings like this. But as unnerving as it was, he could understand the need for it. Magical beings literally held unrestricted power in their finger tips. A single mistake could kill any number of people.

The strict expression on Mikhailova's face fell away to reveal a faint smile. "That being said," she continued. "You _are_ here to learn and we will do our best to teach you. The doors to my office are always open and all the Masters that walk these halls will be more than willing to help you if you but ask their assistance.

"At the moment you are seated in the Banquet Hall. All your meals will be served here. The enchantments are always working, so you may order food whenever you feel the need to. This building also houses all the dorms, student lounges, and the library. It will be your main living quarters during the year. The rest of the buildings you will quickly learn how to navigate. For the mean time however, there are maps in each of the dorm rooms to help you get acquainted with the grounds.

"Speaking of the dorms, you have all been assigned dorm rooms. Now before you start to groan, these rooms are for one person each, so you are not going to have to share. For those of you who opted to use our luggage service, your bags have already been delivered to your rooms safely. If you find that anything is missing, please tell a Master immediately." As Mikhailova spoke, slips of paper suddenly appeared in front of each student, listing their name and then a number. "These are your room assignments. The first number also equates to your floor number, so you should not have any trouble finding your rooms."

Harry's read 413. Ryan groaned up seeing that, his room own was a floor below. Similar mutterings had broken out over the rest of the room as students compared their assignments. A sharp clap from Mikhailova was all it took for silence to descend again.

"You will also find your schedules for the year in your rooms. Please do not lose them. You shall have the rest of the day to get acquainted with the Academy grounds. Please use your time wisely and find the locations of all your classes; tardiness is not tolerated, even on your first day of classes. Other than that, please enjoy the day. If you have any questions, just ask a Master."

Instantly chatter broke out across the room as students got up and began to move about. Ryan was certainly one of them—he immediately started to ramble again, first about what he'd heard about the school then about how he hoped he'd gotten a nice room.

"We should meet up later!" he said suddenly. "We can explore the grounds. Maybe we'll have some classes together."

"Sounds good," Harry chuckled. Ryan had been an endless source of amusement thus far. Not to mention that it _was_ nice to know someone already.

Harry and Ryan joined the crowd of students pouring out of the Banquet Hall. They were swept along towards a grand spiral staircase that had to be at least ten feet wide. The staircase continued up past several floor. The crowd thinned the farther Harry went until finally, just after saying goodbye to Ryan, he reached his own floor. He was greeted first by a long hallway that had a stone floor, just like the rest of the building. The right side of the hall was lined by doors at consecutive intervals. These doors had black stone numbers on them, immediately identifying them as the dorm room.

As Harry started to walk down the hall, he found that the left side of the hall had a few open archways that led into what looked like lounges and study rooms. Half way along were a pair of large double doors that instantly sparked Harry's curiosity. He held off on the exploration for a moment however to turn to his own room, number 413, and step inside.

It was a large space with basic furniture. That was the best Harry could describe it as. There was a bed up against one wall, a dresser next to it and then a closet beyond that. On the other side of the room were a couch, a coffee table, and a long desk. The far wall also had a pair of French doors that opened up onto a balcony. That feature perked Harry's interest. He barely took the time to take out his bags and unshrink them before heading over to the doors and stepping out onto the balcony.

Harry was immediately greeted with a blast of warm air to the face. He breathed it in, reveling in the familiar smell of the outdoors after have been in the city for the whole summer. He was once again reminded of Hogwarts and how nice it always felt to be back. But he wasn't at Hogwarts. And there was a good chance he'd never see Hogwarts again.

For the first time since discovering the Magical World, Harry was hit with a sudden feeling of nostalgia. He suddenly wondered what his friends were up to and how they were doing. Had there been any more attacks? Had anyone been killed while he was away? What if something had happened to Dumbledore or the Weasleys. What if Hermione had been targeted while in the Muggle world—

Harry forcefully made himself stop and take a deep breath. Everything was fine, he told himself. Surely Christophe would have mentioned something if anything had happened. Fortunately, Harry's rising anxiety was dispersed when the doors of the balcony next to his opened and another person stepped outside. Harry's expression of surprise mirrored Damion's as their eyes met and they both froze.

Damion was the first to recover. He pulled on the bottom of his white dress shirt to straighten out any perceived wrinkles and then cleared his throat.

"Harry Potter. This is a pleasant surprise," he said.

Harry nodded politely. Damion just stared at him, apparently at a complete loss for what to say. The young vampire's face flushed slightly from embarrassment—clearly he wasn't used to getting flustered. Harry too clearly could feel the awkward air between them. After a moment he sighed. If he was going to be rooming next to Damion for the rest of his stay at Silvermoor, then it'd be better to _not_ start off like this.

"So, uhh, I'm surprised that your father was curious about me," Harry commented, tactfully not mentioning how Damion had briefly stalked him. "Obviously I knew that the Wizarding World knows of me, but it's still a bit strange in the Magical World."

Damion seemed thankful for the conversation starter, regardless of the topic. "Yes, well, my father believes that it is very important to be aware of everything that is going on in all the Worlds, lest we miss something that could affect us. It is all a part of the world that we live in anyway," he replied. Then his eyes strayed up to Harry's forehead for a moment and the mage was forced to keep his annoyance from rising up. "And you are different," Damion continued. "No one can survive direct contact with death magic. But you did."

Shifting uncomfortably, Harry looked away. Almost instantly Damion flushed again and began to stammer apologies.

"Not that that is weird or anything!" Damion exclaimed. "It's just, er, different. And it opens up new possibilities. I am sure that that is why my father is curious about you. You are not only the first person to survive death magic, but you are also the first mage born to wizards. That has _never_ happened before. Magic-wise, it should not be possible."

Harry frowned at that, though he had to admit that it piqued his curiosity. "What's the difference between mages and wizards anyway?" he asked. "Besides race, I mean."

Damion hesitated for a moment, looking surprised by the question. "Well, wizards are the descendants of mages," the young vampire answered. "A cross between the magical race and the non-magical race. As such, their magic is far weaker. Diluted, if you will. It shorted their lifespan a fair bit too. From what I have learned, wizards have much narrower magical pathways than magical beings, which is why they require the use of wands to use as conduits."

The explanation went completely over Harry's head. "Magical pathways...?" he repeated blankly.

Wincing, Damion waved his hand absently. "Yes, magical pathways. They are, uh..." He hesitated and then flushed again. "I do not know much about this," he admitted. "Only what my tutors told me, and they did not dip into the subject too much. Apparently we are taught more about it in Magical Theory though, which is a mandatory class for Zetas."

Harry nodded slowly. "Sure..."

Suddenly Damion's hand flew up to his temple. He looked distracted and Harry wondered if he'd suddenly gotten a headache.

"I beg your pardon, but I must withdraw from the conversation," Damion said after a moment. "My father wishes to speak with me."

Without any further explanation, Damion swiftly walked back into his room, leaving Harry standing on the balcony, staring at the spot where he'd just been and wondering what the hell that had been about. Shrugging it off as Damion being strange—he'd certainly proven to be so, so far—he returned to his own room and started to unpack.

* * *

Harry left his room not a half an hour later with the intent to explore. He'd agreed to meet up with Ryan, so he figured he'd head down to his floor...Right after he checked out those large doors he'd seen earlier in the hall.

The doors themselves were simple enough. They were made out of a dark wood and had a stone arch around them that had designs carved into them. That wasn't too surprising; from what Harry had seen thus far, magical beings were quite keen on intricate details. There was no knob or handle on the doors, so Harry simply reached out and pushed them open.

It immediately became obvious that the doors led into a library. A library large enough that, quite frankly, it put the one in Hogwarts to shame. Harry was standing on a balcony with short stairs on either side of him that led down into a massive room—massive enough that it almost stretched half the length of the building—that was filled with various shelves and tables and cases. One could easily get lost in it, he thought. What was more incredible than this sight, however, was the far wall of the library. Or rather the window, he should say, since that was what it was: One massive window that looked out onto the grounds of the Academy.

Awed by the sight, Harry walked down into the library and closer to the window. From here he could see the back of the horse statues—the Silver Steeds, Aetius had said—that guarded the entrance to the valley and the path that led from them up to the building. That could only mean that this was the smooth "wall" that he'd seen from the outside. It must have been an enchantment then; something to allow only those on the inside to see out.

Finally turning away from the window, Harry glanced at the large, elegant spiral staircase in the middle of the library that led both up to the next floor and down to the next one. Except for the landing, it was fenced off with a golden railing that protected people from falling into the five foot space between the stairs and the floor. It was actually rather interesting, as it made it look as though the staircase was protruding from a giant hole in the floor.

Curious, Harry approached the railing. Looking down, he was shocked to see that the staircase dropped down into what appeared to be a second floor of the same library. And it didn't stop there—it continued down for another two floors. Looking up, Harry guessed that the library was also continued on the floor above his.

Harry breathed out sharply and took a step back. Just how many books could this library hold? The building was enormous as it was and the library alone must have taken up about a third of it. Hermione would have a field day, he thought with a chuckle. Hell, _he_ could have a field day.

"Harry!" a voice called from the landing in front of the double doors that led into the library. Harry looked up sharply and saw Ryan standing there, waving to him. "Hey!"

Chucking softly at the werewolf's apparent exuberance, Harry waved back while walking over to him. "Ryan," he greeted. "How did you know I was here?"

Ryan was literally bouncing on his heels. "Well I finished checking out my dorm room—have you seen the view, by the way? Fucking _awesome_. Anyway, I finished so I came to see if you were done too so I went to your room. You weren't there though—or at least I thought so, since you didn't answer. So I followed your scent instead and it led me here. And here you are!"

Harry resisted the urge to laugh again. "Here I am," he agreed. Then he focused on part of what Ryan had said "You followed my...scent, though?"

"Well yeah," Ryan said in a tone that made it clear he thought that it was obvious. "I _am_ a werewolf after all." He laughed suddenly and playfully punched Harry's arm. "Come on, it's not like you _forgot_ or something. _Anyway_, let's get to exploring, yeah?"

With a strained smile, Harry nodded. Indeed, he _had_ forgotten—forgotten that Ryan didn't know he was new to the Magical World. He debated saying something about it before finally deciding not to. Ryan would find out eventually, but for now Harry preferred to have a friend who _didn't_ know he was famous.

* * *

"So what classes do you have?" Ryan asked absently. The focus of his gaze was switching between their surroundings and the map in his hands—which was sideways, much to Harry's amusement.

The two new students were standing in the middle of a paved pathway that connected all the buildings on the "campus"—if it could be called that. There were tall oak trees overhead and blushes and plants lining the paths. Numerous other students passed by them, all equally distracted by looking around and exploring the grounds.

Harry calmly reached out and turned the map in Ryan's hands so that it was the right side up. While the werewolf made a sound of understanding and then began to laugh again, Harry took out his schedule from his pocket and unfolded it.

"Er, for this semester Magical Theory is first. Then Transfiguration, Physics, Enchantment, Elemental Manipulation, Magical History, and Soul Magic.

"Ooh!" I have Magical Theory first too!" Ryan exclaimed, looking excited. "Sweet, we're in the same class! But, uh..." He deflated suddenly. "That's it. The rest of my classes are at different times. You're taking Soul Magic though? That's gotta be interesting! I've got Botany instead. _Bleh_. My mom made me take it.

"Well I'm sure she had a good reason for it."

Both Harry and Ryan jumped in surprise at the sudden comment from behind them. Turning around, Harry wondered whether he should be startled or resigned to see that it was Damion.

"Hello again," the vampire said with a smile. "It would seem that I keep on running into you."

"That's one way of putting it," Harry replied dryly, his thoughts straying back to the original stalking encounter.

"Hey, I know you!" Ryan exclaimed. "You're that dude from that one store. Uh...Hold on, I know your name, I swear I do. It's...It's...Yeah, no. I don't remember."

"Damion Noctis," Damion said with a strained smile.

"Yeah, that!"

Damion's gaze returned to Harry, dismissing the other boy. "Have you found your classes yet?" he asked. "Perhaps we have some in common." Harry didn't even have the time to open his mouth before Damion was already looking over his shoulder at his schedule. "Indeed we do, it seems. Transfiguration and Elemental Manipulation."

"Er, yeah, I guess."

"Shall we head over there now—?" Damion began to ask before Ryan stepped in again.

"Dude, what the hell?" the werewolf asked angrily. "Who _are_ you?"

"I thought we just went over this...?"

"That's_ not_ what I meant!" Ryan snapped back. Somehow, he looked like a dog with its hackles raised. "Harry and I were in the middle of talking and you just waltz up and try to drag him off! _Not_ cool man."

Damion sniffed, looking down his nose at Ryan. "Yes, well, pardon me for the interruption then. But at least I am clear with my intentions. You are merely gnat, drawn to the light."

Ryan gave him a blank look. "The hell...?"

"I know your type," Damion replied with a roll of his eyes. "You cannot do well on your own, so you seek out those who are famous and try to get close to them."

"Okay, seriously. What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

Harry rubbed his forehead, wishing suddenly that he was anywhere but here. He did _not_ want to have to deal with this. "Guy, stop. This is just a misunderstanding. Damion, Ryan doesn't know."

Ryan glanced between them, bewildered. "I don't know what? What's going on?"

For his part, Damion looked flabbergasted. "Does not _know_?" he repeated incredulously. "Has he been living under a _rock_?"

"Hey!"

"Er, look, Ryan," Harry quickly placated him. "I'm kind of...famous. In a way."

"_Huh_?"

"Oh for the love of—" Damion growled. "He's _Harry Potter._ The Boy-Who-Lived." When Ryan's confused expression didn't change, he continued on. "He was attacked with death magic as a child and not only survived, but became a mage when he was born as a wizard."

"That's...freaking _awesome_! How'd you do it?" Ryan asked eagerly.

Damion scoffed and turned away. "I give up," he said, "There is clearly no way to speak rationally with you."

Ryan's response was a growl. "Well excuse me for not knowing everything!"

At this point Harry simply turned and started to walk away. He'd just met these two and already they were fighting. He'd had enough arguing, enough hostility, enough _drama_ at Hogwarts to last him a lifetime. He wasn't going to repeat it here; adjusting was difficult enough as it was.

Both Damion and Ryan stopped instantly and stared at his back. They shared a glance, frowning, and then quickly followed.

"Harry? Hey Harry, wait up! The classes are the other way!"

* * *

A/N: The statues guarding Silvermoor are based off the Steeds of Time from God of War II (though a fair bit smaller). There's a picture of them in my profile for those of you who haven't played that game, to you give an idea of what they look like.

This chapter is the end of the major descriptions of the Magical World, for the most part. The next chapter will focus more on magical theory and background, and then we'll start to dive more into the plot.

And finally, since I haven't really specified this yet in this story, let me take a moment to say to that this story has **no pairings**. It's not a romance story for one, and quite frankly Harry is eventually going to be under too much stress and pressure to even think about maintaining a relationship.

Thanks for all your reviews!

--S.R.


	6. Chapter 6: Beyond the Sun

Title: Atra Regnum  
Author: Shadow Rebirth  
Beta Readers: solunvar, Teufel1987  
Rating: T/PG-13  
Warnings: Death, blood and gore, language, spoilers  
Chapter WC: 5,005  
Story WC: 28,877  
First Written: November 2, 2009  
Last Edited: April 19, 2010  
Posted: April 19, 2010  
Summary: Harry has a dark secret: He isn't a wizard. But that certainly doesn't mean he can't do magic. It was too bad it also meant that in the face of fanatical governments and enraged demigods, Voldemort was going to be the least of his problems. [AU, no pairings.]

* * *

Atra Regnum

Chapter 6  
_Beyond the Sun_

* * *

A melancholic feeling filled Harry as he stared around the classroom. It reminded him of Hogwarts, and greatly so. The walls were made of stone and rows of desks filled the room. The main difference was the bluish-white balls of light hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the classroom. There was also a number of diagrams hanging on the walls, most of which he couldn't make sense of. The one closest to him showed the Earth and its atmosphere and was labeled in what looked like Latin.

And of course, the students filling the room were also quite different. Directly in front of Harry was a blue skinned fayerie and next to him was a silver haired veela.

"This is going to be boring," Ryan groaned. He was sitting on Harry's other side with his head resting on the desk. "I _hate_ theory. Why can't we just jump straight into the actual magic? It's not like learning theory is actually going to _do_ anything for us—"

"Well I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Henderson."

Ryan shot up in his seat, eyes wide with horror. Standing next to their desk was a tall woman with pale blonde hair—though nowhere near as pale as a fayerie or veela's hair—that was pulled back into a bun. She looked like she was in her early thirties, but as this was the Magical World there was no way of telling just how old she actually was. One of her eyebrows was arched as she stared down at Ryan.

"Er, umm— T-that is," Ryan stuttered, vainly trying to find a way to save face. "...Hi, Master Brenton."

The corners of the woman's mouth twitched upward. "Well at least you paid enough attention to your syllabus to know my name," she said dryly. "I just hope you put that same attention into the rest of my class, boring though you may find it."

"Yes Ma'am," Ryan replied meekly.

A small snicker slipped through Harry's lips at the sight of the usually energetic Ryan cowed by just a few words and a look. Harry regretted it a second later when the professor's gaze snapped over to him.

"The same goes for you, Mr. Potter," Master Brenton said pointedly.

Suddenly it seemed to Harry as though the entire class had collectively breathed in and forgot to breathe out. The hairs on the back his neck stood on end as a dozen gazes fixed on him. Master Brenton seemed to notice as well, if the frown on her face was any indication.

Abruptly Master Brenton clapped sharply while turning and continuing to walk up to the desk in the front of the class. Everyone's attention snapped back to her and the tension eased from Harry's shoulders as he was finally able to relax.

"Well let's get started, shall we?" Master Brenton queried. "I am Abigail Brenton and I'll be your Magical Theory Master." Despite her wiry frame, her voice easily carried throughout the entire room without the use of magic. She spoke with a vaguely familiar American accent that Harry couldn't quite place.

Master Brenton swiftly moved over to her desk and leaned against one of its corners. She picked up a stray pen and began to absently twirl it in her hand. "This class," she continued, "Is one of your required classes for a reason. I know that many of you don't like theory and find it boring..." Her gaze strayed over to Ryan, who wilted again. "...But what you will learn in here will have drastic effects on your magical ability. Here you will learn how magic works and why it works the way it does. You will then be able to use what you've learnt here and apply it to the rest of your classes and improve your overall magical performance."

Setting her pen down, Master Brenton moved to stand in front of the center of the room once more. Harry could easily see that she was quite passionate about her subject, despite her rather impassive expression.

"First of all," the mage began, "Can anyone tell me exactly what magic is?" Silence and confused faces answered her, which caused her to grin. "Exactly! No one can, because no one knows, at least not for sure. Magic is an unknown quantity whose existence cannot be explained through regular means. Through centuries, nay, _millenniums_ of study however, we have managed to come to a basic understanding of how magic works and why it causes the reactions that it does.

"Magic is energy, plain and simple. When it is used it affects matter and energy around it, causing them to change to create a desired effect. Each and every person in this world has a magical core inside them which holds this energy for them to access—and yes, this does include Muggles." Suddenly, Professor Brenton waved her hand at the chalkboard behind her, causing a piece of chalk to appear and begin to write quickly on the board. "And this brings us to the first topic that we will be discussing." Master Brenton gestured at the question that was now written on the board behind her and repeated it aloud: "What is the difference between magical beings, wizards, and Muggles?"

The mage looked around at the class and saw them all contemplating the question. "Well?" she asked.. "Anyone?"

Finally, an ice elf who sat in one of the front rows raised his hand and Master Brenton gestured for him to speak.

"Well," he began in a tone that clearly stated that he thought that the answer was obvious, "We can use magic and they can't. Or at least we can use it a lot better than them." He smirked then, letting everyone know exactly what he thought of wizards.

"But why?" Master Brenton asked in rebuttal. "Why, if we all have magical cores, can we use magic while Muggles can't? Why can we as magical beings use magic to such a higher extent than wizards can? Why?"

The elf's smirk faltered and he obviously had no idea how to answer. Professor Brenton let her gaze sweep the room, asking with her eyes if anyone had an answer. When only silence met her, she grinned once more and then entered what Harry would come to know as her 'lecture mode'.

"What separates wizards from Muggles and us from wizards is simply our access to our magical cores. You see, the way that we access our cores is through what has come to be known as magical pathways. These are pathways in the body that generally run along about the same lines as our veins and are what our magical energy runs through when we summon it from our magical cores.

"Muggles have absolutely no magical pathways, no connection to their magical cores. It just sits there inside of them for their whole lives, never really doing anything. Wizards, on the other hand, do have magical pathways, though they are very thin, thus causing them to have only a thin connection to their magical cores." Master Brenton paused and then began to pace in front of the chalkboard, really getting into her explanation. "It's so thin in fact that they very rarely can access their core directly. The magical energy simply can't be forced through such small pathways. It's when they experience extreme emotion that the magic is instinctually forced through the pathways, and even then this usually only happens when the witch or wizard is young. Wizards have come to call this 'accidental magic'.

"In order to substitute for this, wizards came up with the idea of wands. Wands—which contain parts of magical creatures—act like a bridge to their cores, allowing them to wield their magic. However, in order to be able to properly wield this magic, wizards have to use incantations and wand movements to mold their magic to do what they want it to. This limits their abilities down to certain spells, instead of them just being able to do whatever they want with their raw magic.

"However, we, as magical beings, have no such limitations. We have very wide magical pathways, allowing for a direct connection to our magical cores. In having this, we're able to directly call on our raw magical energy and wield more of it with much more accuracy and precision." Master Brenton paused her pacing then and turned to smile brightly at the class. "So, to sum it up," she continued, "We all have cores, but Muggles have no connection to that core. Wizards have only a thin connection and have to use wands to bridge the gap. And finally we, as magical beings, have direct access to our magical cores and thus are able to wield our magic with nearly no limitations." She paused for another moment, to let everything set in. "Are there any questions? They don't have to pertain specifically to what I just said." The class mulled everything over before one student finally raised their hand.

"What about squibs and Muggleborn wizards? How do they fit into everything?"

Professor Brenton nodded brightly. "Good question," she commented. "It actually all has to do with genetics. Wizards produce other wizards who are capable of similar magic due to the genetics that they pass on. Muggleborns result from two Muggles whose genomes combine to allow the person to have wide enough magical pathways for them to access their magic. Squibs, on the other hand, result from two parents whose genomes combined to create magic pathways that just aren't wide enough to support any type of magic. Unlike Muggles, these squibs do indeed have magical pathways; they're just not stable enough.

"We'll actually be going into the genetics behind magic a bit more later on, so I'll go a little bit more in depth then."

The students murmured among themselves for a minute, exchanging their thoughts. After a moment however, another student shot out another question: "And how about mages? They're the closest to the rest of the human race except for their magical ability. How does that all work out?"

"Mages," the professor replied, "Are indeed human in every aspect except for their magical capacity. It is because of this that they have a very delicate balance in their genetics which allows them to have the magical ability that they do.

"By basic definition, mages are humans whose genes combine to create wide magical pathways to the point that the mage is able to connect directly to their magical core, making them magical beings. Because of this, mages who procreate with mages—or any other magical being for that matter—have offspring that will undoubtedly be a magical being as well. When a mage mates with a wizard, however, there is a fifty percent chance of their child being either a mage or a wizard. If they do turn out to be a wizard they will be a very strong one, quite often prone to 'accidental magic', even as an adult.

"In all of time there has never been a case of it working the other way around, where two wizards produce a mage. At least not from birth."

Again Harry felt eyes stray over him. Even Ryan glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, though he quickly looked away when he saw the scowl beginning to form on Harry's face.

Master Brenton continued on for a bit, but Harry didn't even hear her, so caught up in his thoughts he was. This was interesting, he thought. But it didn't explain how he'd become a mage. He'd been told it had something to do with the Killing Curse—the death magic—but that didn't make sense to him. How could something that was supposed to kill him make him more powerful? That was, of course, unless one of his parents had actually been a mage all along and had just hidden it from the whole world. Harry highly doubted that that was the case. Finally, Harry drew out of his reverie enough to hear someone asking another question.

"Why is it that having part of a magical creature in a wand allows wizards to access their magic better?"

Master Brenton grinned again before answering. "It's to do with the magic that magical creatures have and the difference between magical creatures and magical beasts. I won't go into it right now—though we will at a later date. Those of you whom are taking the Magical Creatures class that is offered here will probably get a bit of an explanation today in that class."

The rest of the class continued in a similar way, with different students asking questions and Master Brenton answering them in length, effectively painting a pretty good picture of just how magic worked. By the end of the class, Harry was in a state of slight awe. Why had they never been taught anything like this at Hogwarts? Never mind the fact that wizards probably didn't know any of this theory—this stuff was just amazing! It all made so much sense now. _This_ was why he was able to use magic the way he did. _This_ was why he was so different from wizards.

When they were finally dismissed, Ryan and Harry stood simultaneously and began to exit the class. Harry didn't get more than a few steps however before an ice elf slammed into his shoulder while brushing by.

"Oi!" Harry exclaimed as he stumbled.

The taller guy instantly turned around and snarled, "What?" Harry was briefly taken aback by the sheer hostility in his expression. "Got a problem, _wizard_?"

"What the hell—?!"

Before Harry was even able to finish his sentence however, the ice elf had already left and the rest of the students were warily skirting around them. It wasn't too surprising, considering how Ryan was growling and glaring daggers at the doorway.

"What was that jackass's problem?" the werewolf snapped.

Though frowning heavily, Harry just shook his head. "Let it go," he said softly. There was no way he was going to get in trouble on his first day at school—regardless of whether or not it was his fault. Ryan still seemed upset, but he calmed down easily enough.

But that didn't stop him from giving Harry a warning to watch his back before exiting the classroom.

* * *

Transfiguration and Physics passed by for Harry in a blur of lectures and demonstrations. He'd sat with Damion during Transfiguration, but other than that nothing particularly interesting had happened. Or at least, nothing _good_.

Apparently word about him attending Silvermoor had finally gotten out. Suddenly it was like his first week at Hogwarts all over again. Students would whisper as he passed by and solemn gazes followed him wherever he went. Most students were just curious, but there were a number who seemed to harbor a serious grudge against him, just for being a former wizard. It was rather disturbing.

When Harry stepped into the Enchantment classroom, the first thing he saw was Master Aetius leaning back in the chair behind the desk at the front of the room, with his feet propped up. He was flipping through a book absently, paying no attention to the students as they filtered in. It figured Harry would just so happen to have Master Aetius as a professor.

Well at least the class should prove to be interesting.

"Hmm, Master Aetius...I've heard of him," Damion muse quietly. "I think my father might have mentioned him once."

Harry hummed thoughtfully in response. He'd kept hearing a lot about Damion's father in the past two days; Damion could hardly go an hour without mentioning him. It wasn't like how Malfoy had been, bragging about him and constantly reminding people who he was. Rather, it was as though his father was his entire world. Everything he knew seemed to be about something his father had told him or somewhere his father had taken him once. Ryan laughed at Damion for it, but it made Harry rather melancholy; would he have been like that, had his father still been alive?

And that invariably brought Harry's thoughts to the Wizarding World. He was starting to miss his friends already. Every time he saw a statue, wondered what Hermione would think of it. Every time he overheard a conversation about some magical sport, he wondered if Ron would like it. From different angles various professors reminded him of the ones he'd known. He'd catch a flash of red hair in a hallway and immediately turn, thinking it was a Weasley.

Despite this, Harry made no attempt to contact his old friends—nor was he planning to. He just couldn't take the risk. Harry was afraid that if they knew where he was, they'd try to get him to come back. And he couldn't do that. He _needed_ to be here, to train his abilities. Plus, he couldn't specifically tell them what was going on even if he wanted to, thanks to the secrecy contract Christophe had had him sign. Maybe eventually Harry would write to them, but not yet. Not yet.

That didn't stop him from wondering. What would they say if they learned about the Magical World? If they knew that he was a mage?

The scraping of wood against stone brought Harry's attention back to the present. Master Aetius had pushed back his chair and stood up and was now surveying the class with a keen eye. A moment later that sharp look disappeared, replaced by a wide grin.

"Welcome, welcome children! This is Zeta year Enchantment. If you just suddenly had an epiphany and realized that you're in the wrong class, please leave now and scurry along to find the place you're supposed to be in. No? No one? Alright then, for the rest of you, I hope you'll enjoy this class. Enchantment is certainly my favorite subject, as should be pretty obvious from the fact that I'm teaching it. If you're one of those rare people who dislike enchantment...Well, who knows how your minds will change as time goes by. After all, 'If you can look into the seeds of time and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak.' Hmm?

"I'm Gaea Aetius, by the way. Briefly about me...? I'm the head Enchantment Master at this school. I teach the advanced class and you little guys, so that I have a chance to get my hands dirty with all sorts of students. And before anyone points it out, yes I do realize that with my fair hair, pale eyes, and white skin I look rather washed out, but guess what: I don't care! If you've really got that much of a problem with it, take it up with my parents for being vampires and thus giving me the inability to get any sort of a tan. Speaking of which, I hail from a small town in northern Italy. I've been teaching here for nearly fifty years now and I have Masteries in enchantment, physics, neuromagic, soul magic, and death magic."

From the way stents the students' jaws began to drop, Harry figure that it was rare for someone to have so many Masteries. If he equated it to a master's degree in the Muggle world then he could certainly see why; it was difficult enough for someone to get one degree, let alone _five_.

The rest of the class mainly consisted of Master Aetius talking and everyone else laughing at the random points he made. He'd been quite an engaging professor so far, even though they hadn't actually touched onto enchantment itself yet.

Following Enchantment, Harry had a short break for lunch. He followed Damion down to the Banquet Hall, which was now filled with students of all ages. Harry sat at an empty table with a wall at his back, not too far from the doorway. He'd grown paranoid during his time in the Wizarding World, so he now instinctively chose a seat with the most protection—where he could see everything and couldn't be snuck up on, while still being close enough to an exit in case he needed to make a quick escape. Harry thought his actions were probably irrational, considering that he was in a school, but that didn't make him stop. Damion humored his choice in seating without seeming to understand its meaning.

Once seated, Harry picked up one of the thin black booklets he'd first seen during the Zeta orientation. He had learned the day before that they were menus, listing numerous different types of food, everything from curry to lasagna, which made sense considering that the students came from all over the world. They operated similarly to a Muggle touch screen in that you tapped the items you wanted to select, then tapped _Done_ once you were finished. Almost immediately after, the plates of food would appear on the table.

Not a minute after Harry had begun to enjoy a sandwich, Ryan stat down heavily next to him, across from Damion. He dropped his bag onto the floor with a _clunk_ and instantly started ordering food. Damion watched with a faint expression of disgust as half a dozen plates appeared.

"Must you be so uncouth?" he finally demanded, once the werewolf had begun to eat.

Ryan paused, a half eaten slice of pizza in his hand. "Huh?"

Damion scoffed and turned away, muttering something in Italian under his breath. Harry frowned tightly, but said nothing; he was already growing used to their bickering, annoying as it was.

* * *

Harry's first class after lunch was Elemental Manipulation. He was curious about the class, having heard from Ryan during lunch that it was incredibly interesting—or, in his words, "a blast". Upon first catching sight of the professor however, Harry had to wonder if he should revise his initial opinion.

Chuntao Daiyu, the professor, had to be the strictest looking woman he'd ever laid eyes upon. She was an older Chinese elf with short graying hair and sharp gray eyes. Her mouth was stretched out into a permanent thin line that seemed to radiate displeasure. She was a bony woman who, despite being around five and a half feet tall, somehow seemed much smaller. That she walked around in short, quick strides didn't exactly help.

She was, however, counted among the most talented elemental manipulators in the world and when she spoke all of the students hung onto her every word.

"This is your first day of Elemental Manipulation," Professor Daiyu said once they all had been seated in the large classroom. "For those of you who don't know, in this class you shall learn how to manipulate the natural elements around us. These elements are fire, water, air, earth and—to a lesser extent—lightning, ice, air, and metal, for those of you who are talented with multiple elements.

"The first concept you must understand is that all people are more compatible with certain elements. You will all have one or two elements which you are able to control and others which you have no power over whatsoever. This has nothing to do with magic, only yourselves—your personal perception of the world shapes how you approach the different elements. And the elements require specific approaches in order to be manipulated. This of course means that with enough time, it's possible to control them all. In fact, that's a requisite for becoming an Elemental Master. Today however you will learn which elements you are able to manipulate. From there we will begin on precisely how you can control them."

Harry exchanged a glance with Damion, who sat next to him. They were both curious about the class, even more so now. Harry couldn't help but wonder which element he was compatible with.

"We will begin with fire," Daiyu said. She snapped her fingers and suddenly small flames appeared over each of the desks, floating about four inches in the air. "Manipulate the flame; make it move."

Harry frowned at the small flame, concentrating. If he added a bit of oxygen to the flame then it'd grow and—

"Manipulate the flame!" Professor Daiyu voice suddenly barked from directly in front of him. Harry jumped in surprise. "And _only_ the flame." She glared at him for a second, as if she'd known what he was about to do. Harry quickly nodded his agreement and then released a relived sigh when Daiyu moved on. Her tense body language unnerved him for some reason. Actually, she reminded him a lot of Alastor Moody.

The flame flickered almost mockingly at Harry as he returned to staring at it. Manipulate only the flame? So just the energy then...

Manipulating the flame turned out to be harder than Harry expected. Because fire was pure energy, it was wild and uncontrollable. Harry had to use all of his willpower in order to get it in the direction that he wanted it to move, and even then it just seemed to slip through his control. Next to him, Damion made controlling the fire seem disturbingly easy. In a matter of seconds he was able to do almost anything with it.

The second exercise was for water. Professor Daiyu snapped her fingers for a second time and the flames were replaced by small bowls of water.

For Harry, the water turned out to be even more difficult to control. No matter what he did he couldn't control it with his magic any more than he could with his fingers. Had he been allowed to he could have easily used the air outside the water to move the liquid, but with the water alone it was impossible. His only respite was that Damion wasn't having any more luck than he was.

Next was the wind exercise, in which they were told to create a miniature whirlwind on their desks. For Harry this came surprisingly easy. Perhaps it was because he'd already been manipulating air for many years, or maybe it was because it was the element he was most "compatible" with. Either way he finished the exercise in a few scant seconds.

The final exercise that they were given was for manipulating earth. Professor Daiyu snapped her fingers again and this time a rock appeared on each of the students' desks.

"Break the rock," was all she said. She gave no other instructions beyond that and no one had the nerve to ask.

Harry stared blankly at the rock, wondering how to complete this task. Again he was surprised to realize that he knew exactly how to break it had he been using wind; he would have just shoved air into the natural holes in the rock and then expanded it outwards. But using only earth he honestly had no idea, so he decided to do what he did best: Wing it.

The dark haired mage concentrated all of his power onto the rock and channeled it through it, trying to get it to break. To his surprise the rock began to vibrate slightly before finally cracking into several pieces.

Harry blinked down at the rock. "Huh," he mused quietly. "Well I guess that works."

As Harry looked up from his own rock, he happened to overhear Master Daiyu congratulating—almost _praising_—a nearby Egyptian mage for her ability to turn the rock into a finely powered dust mixed with pebbled of various sizes. Damion leaned around Harry to get a look and found himself similarly gaping.

"Incredible," the vampire muttered. "She must be almost on par with some elves."

Harry turned to give Damion a questioning look. "...The elves? What do you mean by that?"

"Ah, well you might have noticed that there are not any elves in this class right?" Damion asked. Harry glanced around and suddenly realized that he was right; the class was made up of mages, werewolves, vampires, etc. but no elves. "Well that is because all elves attend a different sort of elemental manipulation class. You see, each race of elf has power over one element—and only that element. But the control that they do have over it far surpasses what most other races are able to accomplish."

Harry considered his explanation for a moment. "So then ice elves control ice and fire elves control fire?" he asked.

Damion nodded. "And wood elves control earth," he agreed. "Though a few have been known to control plants instead, but that's rare."

By the end of the Elemental Manipulation class all of the students had figured out which of the elements they were most compatible with. Harry's was without a doubt wind and Damion's was fire, though paradoxically he handled water pretty well too.

Professor Daiyu told them that from the next class onwards they'd be receiving instructions specific to their own element. They'd learn the basics in how to control all the other elements too, but would be focusing on their main one for the time being.

Damion absently ran a hand through his bangs as they walked out of the class. The rest of his hair was tied back in a waist length braid, as always. "It should be interesting to learn how to form fire from nothing," he commented. "Master Daiyu mentioned something about using raw energy and friction..." The rest of Damion's sentence turned inaudible as the vampire began mumbling, lost in thought. Harry chuckled once more and left the vampire to his musings.

For his part, Harry was also quite eager for their next class. He'd learnt throughout his life that the air around them could be used for so much, and so to actually be taught the specific ways to control air would doubtlessly only enhance his control.

Harry's next class was Magical History, which honestly piqued Harry's curiosity. Considering the age of the Magical World, he doubted the class would be like History of Magic at Hogwarts, which had only covered the past thousand years.

He had no idea just how true that would prove to be.

* * *

A/N: ...I would remark on the amount of time has passed, but there isn't really much I can say. Life happens, etc., etc. But for a partial explanation, check out the last paragraph!

Not much to say on this chapter, except ugh. Theory. Next chapter will have the only other classes in the entire story--for the most part. Following that we'll dive straight into the action. Also, to make up for my long absence, I've got to pieces of art for you, of Ryan and Damion. Much thanks to Adeene on Tinier Me for them! You can find the links on my profile page.

* * *

So, partial explanation/advertisement, with the advertisement part directed at those of you who are 1/2 Prince fans. Basically, I'm a part of a group that is working on creating a 1/2 Prince RPG video game. You can find the group, Second Life Project, here: secondlifeproject(DOT)ipbfree(DOT)com. We're currently looking for RPG Maker VX designer, RTP script writers, talented artists, and talented writers to work on the dialogue scripts. If you're interested in helping out, please apply!

(Please note that we are _not_ looking for anymore playtesters at this time)

Thanks for your time!

--S.R.


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